


Totalled & Rekalled

by ArvisTaljik



Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Powers, Alternate Universe - Total Recall (2012), BAMF!Natasha, BAMF!Steve, Blame Nick Fury, Brock is a sick sick puppy, Bucky still has both arms, But no one knows what anyone else is doing, Canon-Typical Violence, Eventual Smut, Everyone is working towards the same goal, F/M, M/M, Mentions of Blood, SHIELD Agent!Bucky, SHIELD Pilot!Clint, Sam Wilson Is a Good Bro, Stucky - Freeform, They're all in the dark, Unhealthy Obsessions, Unhealthy Relationships, but not gory, fake relationships, memory replacement, memory wiping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-08
Updated: 2016-07-16
Packaged: 2018-07-13 01:05:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 15
Words: 58,715
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7131803
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArvisTaljik/pseuds/ArvisTaljik
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bucky is feeling lost. It's been nearly a year since Steve disappeared following the split of SHIELD. Nick Fury has been declared an enemy of the state by Chancellor Pierce and national security concerns are on the rise.  Now finding Steve is his mission. His and his alone.</p><p>AKA:  The Totall Recall AU where Alexander Pierce is Chancellor, Steve is a dangerous badass who has his memory wiped and SHIELD has been split in two because of some nefarious plot.</p><p>* * * * * * * * * *<br/>This is an action-packed thrill ride of a Stucky fic that will keep you guessing at every turn.  Cameos and major MCU character involvement throughout and TONS of snark to be expected.  Mostly serious plot with fluff and smut drizzled here and there. :)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Disassociated

**Author's Note:**

> So the inspiration to write this hit me one night and I've been writing and writing and writing faster than the friends who are proofing it for me can get through it and the words just keep on coming and coming and now I'm babbling lol.
> 
> This story is going to have ups, downs, move you sideways, backwards, upside down, and then totally mess with what you think is going on because nothing will make sense until afterwards so yeah... there's that.
> 
> Honestly, this is meant to be serious and fun at the same time. So let's just enjoy this little ride together, shall we? :)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The main character's name is Evan but he is NOT an original character. For those of you not familiar with Total Recall, I can't really explain more without giving up the entire first half of the plot of this fic but just know that Evan isn't who he seems. You'll just have to pay attention and follow along. :)
> 
> Big huge thanks to my betas, ATaylor and LeelaLaFleur!

_At the end of the 21st century, global chemical warfare left the planet nearly uninhabitable._

  _Living space is now Earth's most valuable resource._

  _Only two territories remain:_

  _The United Federation of Britain and The Allied Colonies of Australia, aka The Colony._

  _Workers from The Colony travel through the planet each day on the only feasible transport possible, thanks to the genius innovation of now-deceased billionaire, Howard Stark: 'The Fall.'_

* * *

“Wake up.”

Flashes of light.  Disjointed sounds.  Cold concrete and a rubber mat.  The taste of iron, blood settling on the tongue.

“Wake up.”

Upside down.  No, right side up.  His mind is spinning as the room begins to right itself.  There’s an upturned hospital bed behind him, monitors and equipment knocked over around the room and most of the lights in the ceiling are blown out or shattered.  There’s flashes of red light outside the door, down the hall.  Alarms ache dully in the back of his mind.  Dirt, grime, and grit.  This is all so foreign but painfully familiar at the same time.

“Wake up.  I’ve cut the power.”

There’s a face in front of him.  Mid neck-length brown hair, blue-gray eyes, set shoulders, lined jaw and a look of worry.  A sudden heartache settles deep in his chest but he can’t remember why.  He wants to reach out and touch that face, hold it close to his chest and breathe in the smell of… a smoking wood fire and… home?  Another place, somewhere he’s been and somewhere he wants to go but can’t remember where or the reason why.

“We’ve got about ten seconds before that alarm brings the entire Strike team down here.”

There’s the grip of a pistol being pressed into his right hand.  9mm, Berretta 90Two.  A favorite sidearm.  Not his own favorite;  it’s this person’s favorite.  He doesn’t know how he knows this, but he knows this.

“Here, take this.  We need to go, now!”

He disengages the safety and racks the slide back.  It moves back and clicks forward and he feels ready.  This person has his six.  He doesn’t know why, but he feels safe with this person watching his back.

“Okay, go!” he says standing quickly and making for the door.

He notices that he’s dressed in a gray shirt and gray sweats without socks or shoes.  This isn’t tactically sound at all, but there’s no time to do anything about it.

The other person is wearing a black long-sleeve shirt, a gray eagle within a circle stenciled on the left side of the chest.  Another larger gray eagle is on the back, with the words _Strategic Homeland Intervention and Expeditionary Law-enforcement Division_ around it that’s haphazardly semi-tucked into dark denim jeans.  And in those jeans, there’s that ass.

Is he supposed to be thinking that?  What does this person’s ass have to do anything?  Is this somehow relevant?  Has the temperature in this building just jumped several degrees?  Is the air conditioning malfunctioning?

“We need to move” says the person while ducking out the door into the hall.

There are bodies littering the hall, all of which are fully dressed in tactical gear sporting the same gray eagle emblem on patches and weapons.  He stoops down and grabs two 9mm magazines off the nearest body, sliding them into the pockets of his sweats.

Did this person take out all these people?  There’s nearly a dozen guys laid out on the ground.  Why does this strike him as incredibly hot?!  There it is again; what does that have to do with anything?  Whoever is messing with the thermostat really needs to cut it out; raising the temperature this much can’t be healthy.

As they step over bodies and round several corners, they come to a reinforced door that is slightly ajar.  Not but a second later there are bullets ricocheting off the walls as more troopers in tactical gear appear from a hallway back the way they’ve come from.  His companion gets off two double-handed shots, summarily dropping two of the oncoming troopers.  Two shots; two kills.  Hot or not; conclusion:  definitely hot.  Seriously, they need to fire whomever it is that keeps playing around with the environmental controls.  Why do they keep letting it get hotter in here?

“Go!” they yell at him, pushing his shoulders towards the slightly ajar door.

He steps inside, pulling the other person with him while firing several shots to distract the oncoming troopers.  Managing to slide the steel door closed and key the electronic pad to locked without any bullets getting through, he shoots the pad just for good measure.  Hopefully that will delay the troopers in getting through.

The other person, who he now realizes is slightly shorter than him, grabs his wrist and pulls him towards the back of the room where there are several pillars that can provide cover and a locked, sealed security window.  As they both round one of the pillars, several bullets fly through the small window in the room’s steel door, pinging off of the walls harmlessly.  For good measure, he fires several shots back to keep their pursuers guessing, emptying the mag.

Taking a momentary breather, he drops the spent magazine from his pistol and fishes a new one out of his pocket, sliding it home in the grip and releasing the slide.

It’s sudden, but he realizes that he has a hand on his cheek.  It’s dirty and slightly worn but also warm and comforting at the same time.

“Hey” his companion says.  Blue-gray eyes are locked on his with an intensity that hits him in the back of his head like an arrow. “I love you.”

And before he knows it, that same hand is on the back of his neck and his lips are being crushed against those of his companion.

The kiss is freezing, yet it burns him.  It’s intense yet completely mild.  It’s hard and passionate yet soft and almost bereft.  It’s making his mind swim and lose all track of time yet he’s laser-focused and grounded infinitely into that single moment.

As their lips part, he’s once again staring into those storm-tinted irises.  His mouth goes dry and he licks his lips.  He feels like he’s supposed to say something in response but his voice doesn’t want to cooperate with him.

He tries and tries and all he gets out is “I...” before more bullets are flying through the window and he’s shielding both of their heads with his left hand, foreheads pressed together and facing the side of the room.

When the shots cease, he snatches a quick glance at the security window and makes a snap decision.  Turning around he levels his pistol at the locks and fires off two shots, dropping both of the locks.

Turning to his companion, “We need to get out of here. Go!”

He once again faces the small window in the door, aiming his shots carefully in the hope that it keeps the troopers on the other side occupied.

As he faces the window again, he moves to help his companion (partner/friend/ally?), using his right hand to help them out the window by their left.  There is a canal beneath them but the drop looks to be around two floors and there is a concrete ledge at the water’s edge that could prove a problem.

It’s in that single moment that a bullet tears through both of their hands, his grip giving out momentarily as the pain shoots up his arm.  He turns back to the window and empties the magazine in an effort to buy them a few more seconds to escape.  With his mag spent, he drops the pistol and turns back to the window so he can get his other hand involved to help.

His eyes are pounding, an ache forming behind them as he tries to figure out exactly what he’s supposed to be doing.  Everything feels distant yet close, like he’s touching something that’s miles and miles away.  It’s almost like being along for the ride in a situation that you’re powerless to change.

There’s a slow humming, whining sound rising in volume from behind him and he recognizes the sound of a restraint rifle charging up.  A split second later and he’s got magnetic binders wrapping around his upper body, pinning his left arm to his side.  He’s not getting out of this, but maybe his companion still can.

“Go! Just let go!” he pleads.

“No, no! I won’t let go!”

“I’ll find you! GO!”

He feels the strength of the magnetics on the binders pulling him back towards the door.  He loses his footing as he’s pulled off the ground and is now floating in the magnetic field created between him and the door, held in place only by the hand that’s still in his own.

“No! No! Please!  I’m not leaving you behind!”

“I’ll find you.” It’s barely a whisper now, like a prayer being said at the end of the day before sleeping.  He relaxes his fingers and feels himself being pulled through the air away from the window.

When his back makes contact with the door and the loose glass in the small window frame digs into his shoulder the entire world goes silent and white.

* * *

Evan bolts up in bed, sweat damp on his brow and his heart racing.

As the world comes into focus, he can see it raining outside.  There are clothes strewn over the dresser on the right, boots carelessly kicked off at the foot of the bed, plates from last night’s dinner left uncleaned in the sink.  An EMT uniform draped over a rack on the side of the bed with a name tape labeled _RÜDIGER_.  A warm body slowly stirring next to him.

“Hey babe, you have another nightmare?” The voice is gruff and slightly sleep drawled.  Familiar and soothing yet, foreign and hard to place.  A strong arm snakes around his midsection, helping to ground him out of his sleep-addled state.

“Yeah. Sorry, didn’t mean to wake you” he says back, placing his hand on the arm as he straightens up further.

“Babe, what are we going to do with you?” the man in his bed says.

Everything starts falling into place.  His name is Evan Rüdiger, he’s a citizen of The Colony, he’s 26, and he works in the United Federation of Britain for Stark Industries.  His husband is Brock; they were highschool sweethearts their senior year after they got into a fist fight as juniors behind the gym over something neither of them even remembers now.  They’re both stubborn and pig-headed spitfires but loyal to a fault.  They got married right after graduating from college and Brock had his name changed from Rumlow to Rüdiger because he thought it sounded cooler.  Brock is an EMT up in the UFB and works for the Bureau of Emergency Management.

“I don’t know,” Evan sighs.  Why can’t he just be free to live his life?  Why does he have to be haunted by these dreams?

Brock sits up and wraps his arms around his shoulders while leaning into him. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“There’s nothing to talk about.”

Evan gets out of bed and walks over to the dresser where he’s left a glass of water and his StarkWatch.  He takes an unsteady sip of water before reaching for the watch and placing it on his wrist.

“Is it the same dream then?”

“Same dream.” He glances down at the blue Indiglo screen, “same time.

I’m trapped, being chased and can’t get away.”  He takes a deep breath and then exhales slowly, trying to push it all to the back of his mind. “And then I wake up.”

“And that’s it?” Brock is now sitting on the edge of the bed in just his sweats, running his hands over his eyes and up over his scalp. “It’s just you; nobody else?”

Evan glances back over his shoulder at him.  He can’t possibly tell Brock that there’s this other person in his dream that professes their love to him right before sharing what he’d probably categorize as one of the best kisses of his life.  He just can’t do that to him, not considering the strain these dreams seem to place on their mornings.  “No. Just me.”

Brock frowns slightly before looking up, eyes questioning. “Is it me?”

A perplexed look crosses Evan’s face. “Is what you?”

“You’re alone. You can’t get away. Is it us? Do I make you feel trapped?”  Brock feels like he’s grasping at straws but doesn’t know how else to try and interpret the situation in Evan’s head.

Evan’s expression seems to sink as he hears the questions. “What? No. It’s not that.”

Brock stands from the bed and pads over to Evan, wrapping his arms around his waist from behind.  “Babe, I know this isn’t exactly what we had in mind when we were younger but…”

“This mansion?” Evan chuckles as he glances around the three room apartment.  It’s practically a studio the way it’s arranged with the exception that the closet and bathrooms are their own rooms but the kitchen, dining room, living room and bedroom are all pretty much one relatively open space separated by a few steps here and there.  In all, it’s barely bigger than the dorm room they shared in college.

Shaking his head Brock continues. “Who gets everything they fantasize about, right? But hey, I still got you.” There’s a smile as he finishes and he hopes that it gets through to Evan, which he’s pretty sure it will.

Evan turns around in Brock’s grip, wrapping his own rather impressive arms around tight and muscular shoulders.  Brock may be a couple inches shorter than Evan, but he’s no less muscular, just a bit proportionately smaller and with a light dusting of hair down his chest.  Evan thinks to himself that it always feels best to have his guy wrapped in his arms and tucked under his chin.

“It’s just a dream, that’s all it is” he says into Brock’s hair as he kisses him on the scalp.

Evan presses the button on the surface of his watch that turns on the large flat screen that dominates the wall over their bed.

Brock continues, “well we’re just going to have to get you some better dreams.”

“That would definitely be nice.”

Evan turns his head to face the now active TV, the international news ticker steadily streaming across the bottom of the screen.  It’s then that Brock’s phone buzzes with a priority notification.

Pulling out of Evan’s grip, Brock walks over and picks up his phone.  “Oh, come on. Not this shit again.”

Eyebrows shooting up Evan’s face, “what is it?”

Brock is moving towards where he has his uniform draped over the back of their clothes rack, pulling together the top, pants, belt and boots. “There’s been another bombing in the UFB.  Passenger train outside of London. Goddamn Resistance.”

After pulling his pants and a plain gray undershirt on, Brock stands from where he’s dressing and takes the couple of steps towards Evan, his face apologetic. “I’m going to have to take the 6:30 departure. They’re calling in all emergency personnel to go up top to assist with the injured. I have to go in.”

“Okay babe, it’s alright.” Evan can’t help feeling that this is just his luck.  Instead of getting their hour at home together in the morning before they take off for work on The Fall, there has to be a damn bombing in Britain to pull Brock away from him early.

Brock gently places a calloused palm on Evan’s smooth cheek, stroking next to his piercing blue eyes with his thumb. “We’ll pick this up later tonight, okay?”

“Okay.” Evan places his hand over Brock’s. Hoping for just a few more seconds of contact.

Brock’s hand is pulling away just a second later though and Evan’s cheek feels that much colder for the lack of contact.

“Try and at least get a little more sleep.” Brock says as he walks towards the front door, reaching for the handle.

Evan sighs, “Sleep scares me.”

Brock gives him a small smile “Well, dream of me then.”

He’s helpless to do anything beside smile at that.

“But not in these pants” Brock mocks being put out. “They don’t do my ass any favors.”

“I beg to differ” Evan smirks as he watches Brock slides out the door.

Left to his own thoughts and an hour to get ready for work alone, Evan shifts his attention back to the TV.  There’s a reporter giving updates on the situation up in Britain so he slides his finger up the side of his watch to bring the volume up a bit.

_“The bomb went off just moments after the commuters boarded.  We are being told rescue teams are still searching for survivors.  The death toll is at 144 and still rising.  This marks the fourth attack in the United Federation of Britain in as many months.  And all signs point to terrorist leader Fury and his Resistance movement.”_

The screen shifts to an excessively grainy photo of a bald, dark-skinned man with an eye patch and high-collared shirt or jacket but otherwise possessing no other distinguishing characteristics.  There’s an audio file with a slightly synthesized twang playing in lieu of any video of Fury.

_“The UFB exploits those that they deem weaker than themselves.  The workers of The Colony deserve equality as much as the citizens of the UFB, but the Chancellor seeks security only through the oppression of the less fortunate.”_

The screen shifts to a video of the Chancellor speaking at a podium outside of the Chancellor’s Residence in London with the reporter’s face highlighted in the bottom right of the screen as she continues speaking.

_“Chancellor Pierce pointed to this as proof that Fury does not seek a peaceful path to equality for The Colony, but rather a prolonged and bloody conflict._

_And, with overpopulation figures in the UFB continuing to rise, this could not come at a worse time.  You’ll recall the last attack occurred six weeks ago.  Federal agents under SHIELD have since attributed that bombing to Captain Steven Rogers, a former SHIELD Agent turned traitor and now considered to be Fury’s right-hand man.  No word yet as to whether Rogers had a role in this morning’s incident.”_

Evan can’t help but feel sorry for this Rogers guy.  He’s liable to have the whole of SHIELD and the entire UFB government coming down on his head sooner or later.

Running his hands through his messy blonde hair, Evan figures it’s time to get ready for work.

“I guess it’s time to get back to the daily grind. Again.”

Simple coffee is just not going to cut it today it seems.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If any character portrayals seem a bit OOC at first, that’s because of memory alteration. Any OOC actions/interactions will be move closer and closer towards more IC stuff as the story progresses and the memory alteration is done away with. This is pretty much Total Recall and then some, but with like the Avengers and stuff. So yeah, just go with it. :) And B-T-DUBS, the main character is totally a little shit. Like an epic little shit who constantly has little shit thoughts even if he doesn’t voice them out loud. So yeah, be ready for a LOT of those. Fret not little minions, his little shitness will become more vocal as the story progresses.
> 
> And for those who are wondering, yes, I am intentionally keeping certain character descriptions vague or genderless because that’s all part of the mystery of the main character’s memories being altered.
> 
> You’re going to find plot references, and even some straight rips, from The Winter Soldier, Iron Man 3, and Age of Ultron as this thing progresses. I make no apologies for these whatsoever as they are there specifically to drive the plot of this fic forward.


	2. A Planting of an Idea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Evan goes to work with his BFF, makes a new friend, gets built up only to be let back down and Tony Stark and JARVIS are both Little Shits.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again a big thanks to my betas, ATaylor and LeelaLaFleur! They keep my writing in check. :P

Evan made his way out on to the balcony, taking his coffee and a protein drink with him.  Sure, he could have made an actual breakfast for himself but after being startled awake by that same dream again, he just didn't have the energy.

It's another rainy day here on the outskirts of Sydney, just like it always is for the majority of the spring.  Despite that, the temperature is pleasant and the residual humidity isn't too high, so being out on the balcony shirtless actually feels nice.  The one thing Evan is thankful for is that his weekday commute into the UFB means that he doesn't have to spend the entire day within one season.  When it's winter in The Colony, then it's summer in the UFB and vice versa.  The only thing that stands between being warm in one place or the other is a 46-minute commute on The Fall.

Today would also mark his four year anniversary of working at Stark Industries and with any luck, he'd be hearing about the results of the most recent position upgrades.  He didn't particularly mind working on the assembly lines as an engineering technician for the Iron Legion program, but it certainly wasn't what he wanted to do for the rest of his life.  He'd already had one learning curve mishap on the assembly line (one that resulted in an electrical burn through the palm and out the back of his right hand) and that was payment enough for time spent on the line awaiting promotion.

Strangely though, whenever he focuses on his right hand, the pain radiates from the back of his hand towards his palm, not the other way.  Must just be another oddity of the human body.

Finishing his protein and coffee, Evan steps back inside to get dressed before heading out the door towards the glide train that will take him to The Fall.

 

* * *

 

As Evan steps into The Fall's Terminal 3, he looks up at the various holographic advertisements suspended from the ceiling, one in particular catching his eye.

_"Going somewhere?  No?  Well, don't let that stop you.  That fantasy that remains forever out of reach?  Not anymore.  At Rekall, we'll provide you with a complete set of memories all your own.  Rekall.  We can remember it for you."_

Yeah, sure.  Maybe in another life he could have done something exciting like explore space or be a professional sports star or a superhero.  But, this was his reality now:  the mundanity of a regular work day commute to the UFB to put together robots only to commute right back, go to the gym, eat dinner with Brock, and maybe go out for a drink or to a movie every so often.

Wash, rinse and repeat.

There's an announcement from the PA system.   _"Welcome to The Fall.  All passengers; please report to your designated gates.  This is the final boarding call for the 7:15 departure from Terminal 3."_

"Hey, bro. You look like shit."

Evan had to smirk at that one.  "Thanks Sam, that's exactly what I needed to hear to get my day going."

"No offense man but hey, I aim to please," Sam deadpanned as he handed Evan a fresh-ish cup of coffee.

If it came with free coffee, then Evan could put up with the sass, for now at least.  "Yeah, well, I feel like shit so, none taken."

Sam and Evan walked in companionable silence through the boarding gate towards their designated level and section.

Sam Wilson, Evan never knew why, managed to put up with him and his inanely boring life ever since he'd met the guy during his first year at Stark Industries.  Tall, dark mixed African features and in pretty good shape, Sam worked as a Human Resources Specialist and was threaded into the mid-level hierarchy somewhere under the CEO's office.  Even in his mid-level position, Sam said he had only managed to ever see the CEO herself, Virginia "Pepper" Potts, all of twice. He also had this odd obsession with wearing ‘Falcon Brand’ jeans, but that’s neither here nor there.

"So I saw your name on the HR appointments list for today," Sam said as their elevator reached the designated level.  "Seems someone wants to talk to you about that anniversary date."

Evan really didn't want to get his hopes up, but he would still try to remain as positive as he could.  "Well I'd really like to get off the assembly line and become a supervisor at some point.  Don't get me wrong, I like the line but I'd rather work my way up to design, not be assembling Legionnaires until I'm old and gray."

"So you want to take a bet on it?" Sam said, raising an eyebrow.

"Let me get this straight.  If I _don't_ get promoted then you want me to give you money from the raise that I _won't_ be getting?"

"Well when you put it like that it sounds like extortion."

"No, Sam, that's exactly what it is."  

They stepped into their usual seating compartment just as the last announcement rang from the PA within The Fall.

_"Bienvenido.  Dobro pozhalovat.  Vítané.  Welcome to The Fall.  The time is currently 7:13 a.m.  Travel time to the United Federation of Britain is estimated at 48 minutes.  Prepare for drop in two minutes."_

Evan took his usual seat and leaned over towards Sam.  "Has it ever occurred to you that we always sit in these exact same seats?  For years now... Why?"

"I don't know," replied Sam as he feigned thinking deeply upon the idea.  "They're seats. We have asses.  Seems like the logical thing to do."

Evan continued, unfazed, "I'm talking about us following the same routine, all right, day after day, year after year without even questioning it."  

"Know what? You want to switch it up?  No sweat."

Sam stood from his seat and walked across the intervening aisle to the same seat on the opposite side of the compartment.  Evan just shook his head, keeping his gaze down, and followed after him.

 " _Please make sure all personal belongings are stored below your seat before departure."_

 "Oh, yeah," Sam keened.  "Much more happening on this side.  Good call."

"You're a dick, Sam"

"And you, Evan, are a little shit."

Evan thought that if an eye roll could be heard aloud, that's exactly what one would sound like.

_"The Fall dropping in four.three.two.one.  Have a nice day."_

And with that, the locks on the side of the skyscraper-sized vertical train disengaged and they entered free-fall.

Evan felt overcome with a sense of awe each and every time he felt The Fall begin moving.  Sure, he's been using The Fall at least five times a week since he was a teenager but maybe it was his engineering background and a love of science and technology that allowed him to appreciate the real genius behind The Fall.

After the war, Howard Stark had moved Stark Industries and his family to his London headquarters and almost immediately begun development on a high-speed transportation mode to get people between the only two remaining habitable regions of the planet:  a gravity-propelled vertical ‘train’ that would skirt the edge of the Earth’s outer core as it moved _through_ the planet and to the opposite side.  Of course this meant that Howard had to come up with a plethora of new technologies individually in order to combine them all to build The Fall.

Hyperconductive materials capable of withstanding the heat of Earth’s mantle, high intensity tensor fields, variable-yield oversized maglev tech, artificial gravity and antigravity, the works. It took nearly a decade to lay the groundwork and another five years to complete construction on the tripartite towers in both the UFB and The Colony.

However, as The Fall neared completion on its first phase of in-Earth construction, Howard and his wife Maria had been killed in a car accident as they were heading up to a technology symposium in Scotland, leaving their son Anthony in charge of the company.  Anthony, more familiarly addressed as "Tony" by the media, had reluctantly stepped up to the reigns of Stark Industries as its new CEO upon the passing of his parents, finishing The Fall in his father's stead and managing to do so nearly two years ahead of schedule.  It became immediately apparently to the media and the world at large though that Tony wasn't truly suited to the role of CEO as he seemed more interested in continuing his life of spending more money than any one person had any right to spend on ridiculous and frivolous things.  Expensive custom cars, lavish parties for large groups of upper class socialites and random gifts of expensive jewelry and clothing for whoever happened to be his romantic interest of the week.

All of that only lasted up until about five years ago.

At that time, Tony suddenly decided to cancel the vast majority of his government and defense contracts with the UFB, and by extension, SHIELD, with the exception of manufacturing things such as transport aircraft, body armor, and security mechs.  It was also around this period that he began shutting himself away in his own private R&D lab, only surfacing for the occasional press conference, technology showcase, or the debut of some new product he'd decided was safe enough for public consumption.

Some said that it was a new, proper love interest that was responsible for calming down the previously uncontainable genius-billionaire-playboy-philanthropist.  Whether or not that was true, however, remained up for debate.  It did however result in Tony stepping down from the position of CEO and promoting Virginia Potts in his place.  Profits soared under her leadership and the consumer market was nearly flooded with new products and ideas, all of which were easily affordable for the general public.  Even in the lower income areas of The Colony.

It was actually this change that meant Evan could afford to have a StarkPhone and StarkWatch at all.  So whatever the reason for the change, he could at least be thankful for that.

Evan looked up at the news ticker screen across the compartment as the story changed to a press conference in London.

_Reporter:  "Despite recent talks between Chancellor Pierce and The Colony's governor, the Chancellor has announced that he will be stopping all humanitarian aid to The Colony in light of this morning's bombing."_

_The screen changes to the Chancellor, speaking from Whitehall:  "As much as I want to focus our efforts on cleaning up The Colony, today's terrorist attack means that funding will have to go to bolstering our synthetic federal police force, the Iron Legion.  The protection of our citizens will always come first."_

Ten minutes later, and the ‘fun’ part of the commute began.

_“Prepare for gravity reversal.”_

Evan lightly gripped the seat restraints around his shoulders as he waited for the world to shift around him.

_“Gravity reversal in five.four.three.two.one.”_

And with that the compartment was rotating on its axis, the room’s support struts remaining in place to give one a sense of movement. This was the result of each internal compartment shifting from ‘descending’ mode to ‘ascending’ mode to align with The Fall’s destination.

As the compartment locked into position 180’ from where it started, the PA system came on once again.

_“Gravity restoration in five.four.three.two.one.”_

Then, once again, everyone felt the pull of gravity beneath their seats as The Fall began the second half of its journey up to the UFB.

Yup, Evan still got goosebumps every time.

 

* * *

 

 The remainder of their commute through The Fall was entirely uneventful, as usual.

Evan and Sam made their way through the arrivals gates up towards the customs screening area with their fellow passengers.

_Security Announcement:  "Security posture has been elevated to level three. Please remain in scanners until cleared."_

"Looks like that bomb set off a hell of a panic up here," Sam commented, nodding towards the TV screens showing coverage of the clean-up at the bomb site.

_"Identification documents must be in hand and ready to present to the security officer before entering the screening area."_

Evan pulled out his passport along with Sam as they were ushered into and through the screening gates, flanked on all sides by black and gray Iron Legion mechs brandishing TDI ‘Vector’ submachine guns.

Making it to the Stark Industries employee train line was easy from there and they rode along to the corporate facility on the edge of the city proper.

As Evan and Sam were placing their personal belongings into their lockers before heading off to their respective sections of the building, Evan's mind drew back to the ad he had seen in The Fall terminal before boarding.  Maybe he could get himself some better memories, if the ads for Rekall were to be believed.

Turning to Sam, "hey, what do you know about Rekall?"

"That mind-altering shit?"

"Yeah."

"Do yourself a favor, Evan, stay away from them."

Sam seemed a bit agitated but Evan decided to press on.  "Why is that?"

"Remember Matt Murdock from shift three?"

Evan nods his head 'yes.'

"Matt went to Rekall for his bachelor party; wanted to be king of Mars or some shit."

Evan thought about that for a second.  "Hmm, I wouldn't mind going to Mars."

"Yeah, well Matt went and got himself lobotomized.  When they managed to get his brain put back together, the whole thing had left him blind in both eyes.” Sam made a flicking motion at his eyes for emphasis.

"You believe those stories?" Evan asked, doubtful.

"About Rekall?"

"Yeah."

"Yeah, I do."

Evan still wasn't going to let this drop.  This thing could be just what he needs to get out of the funk and make things a bit better for himself and for Brock.  "Come on.  You never thought about it, just a little bit?"

"I don't need to think about it," came Sam's quick reply.  "They mess with your mind, man.  Ain't worth it."

"Well maybe I need my mind messed with.  Can't possibly make it any worse."

With that they depart for their sections, Evan walking into the assembly line's entryway as their foreman gets up on the nearby platform to start their shift brief.

"All right, all right, listen up," the foreman begins.  "We're starting double shifts tomorrow."

A chorus of moans starts up in the gathered group of workers

"Hey! Hey, hey, hey, hey, hey.  Don't blame me," and the foreman has the gall to look affronted.

There's mutterings of "fuck me" and "this is bullshit" but the foreman continues, undaunted.

"I don't want to be here any longer than you do, okay?  They've increased the production of Legionnaire mechs thanks to that shit this morning, so take all your complaints to Chancellor Pierce."

That seems to placate most of them with nothing but grumbling under quiet breath left in the crowd.

The foreman adds "now, which one of you fine, upstanding dickheads wants to train the new guy?"

And with that, silence.  The foreman scans the group while looking for the latest victim of having to introduce a new employee to the assembly line.

"Rüdiger, you're it."

Evan's hanging his head now, wondering why God seems to have it out for him today.

From just outside his peripheral vision, the new face in the group appears, moving towards him at the back of the gathering.  Messy brown hair, blue eyes, and a jovial expression on a face that looks to be early 30-something.

"Hey man, guess I'm your newbie for the day," the man says, offering his hand.

Evan takes his hand and shakes it firmly, placing a slight smile on his face.  "Yeah, I guess so.  Evan.  Nice to meet you."

The new guy offers a big smile in return.  "Clint.  Nice to meet you too!"

 

* * *

 

Evan spends the morning showing Clint the basics of their portion of the assembly steps for an Iron Legionnaire.  Bolt placement, fitting the chest plate over the arc reactor, attaching the hydraulic actuators for the waist armor, and running diagnostics on the power systems.

Looking over to where Clint is running bolt tests around his unit's arc reactor, he notices where his hand is placed.  "Hey Clint, don't hold it like that," he says, mirroring his hand placement on the chest plate.

"Hold it here," Evan says, moving his hand down below where the reactor is housed.  "If you hold it there and the bolt shorts, it'll discharge 350 amps of static straight through your hand."

Clint looks at him questioningly.  "No shit, huh?"

"No shit," says Evan, showing Clint his palm and the circular scar in the center.  "There's easier ways to get a day off" he says with a small chuckle.

Clint's eyes nearly double in size.  "Ouch, man.  Thanks."

They both return to their assembly tasks but Clint continues speaking.

"Hey, I couldn’t help but overhear you and your friend in the locker room. He was wrong, by the way.  About Rekall" Clint says while still working on his Legionnaire.

Evan raises his eyebrows.  "What, you've done it?"

"Yeah, man.  Been three times already."

"Really?"  Maybe if this guy has been several times, seemingly with no problems, then that means he could be fine too.

"Some of the best memories I have.  Definitely a whole lot better than this shit."  Clint gestures widely at the units they're assembling and the factory room in general.

Clint reaches into a pocket of his coveralls and produces a holographic business card, passing it to Evan.  "Ask for Killian, okay?  Trust me; you’ll thank me later.”

“I’ll check it out then.”

_PA System:  “Evan Rüdiger, report to Human Resources.”_

Looking up at the ceiling as he hears his name announced, he places the card in his pocket before turning back to Clint.  “Well, wish me luck up there.”

“Good luck, man. Hope it’s good news.”

 

* * *

 

Evan exits the elevator from the factory section of Stark Industries up to the main reception levels.  He’s managed to change into a clean, white SI shirt and wash his hands so he’s at least presentable to the HR folks, even if he’s still technically dressed for the factory level.

Seeing the reception desk with silver letters below the counter spelling out “Human Resources” he walks up to the young lady at the counter to announce himself.

“Hi, I’m Evan Rüdiger. I was paged up from the factory to see HR?” he says politely.

The young woman, Emily from her name tag, eyes Evan with a look that says “om nom nom” more than anything else, but it disappears just as quickly as it had appeared. Evan flashes a small smile at her while he awaits her answer.

“Yes Mr. Rüdiger, you’re expected. Please follow me.”

Emily stands and walks toward a bank of silver-doored elevators off to the left where she presses the call button. Once the door opens, she ushers him inside.

The interior of the elevator is all polished wood and stainless steel, doubtless these are the elevators to the upper offices and various departments of Stark Industries that are kept far and away from the factories below.  He watches as Emily pushes the second button from the top which is labeled “CEO, COO, CFO, and CHR.”

Puzzlingly, Evan makes to ask the young woman a questions but she interrupts him before he can barely crack his mouth open.

“Just a few more seconds Mr. Rüdiger.”

A soft ‘ding’ announces their arrival at the indicated floor and Emily steps out ahead of him.

This floor has open and airy offices with glass doors and huge bay windows letting in an abundance of natural light.  The carpet is done up in dark reds mixed with natural shades of tan and light brown, giving the entire floor a very natural and open feel.  There’re potted plants placed outside of each office door, furthering the sense of ‘nature’ in the environment.

Emily leads him up to the furthest glass door and presses a blue holographic button just to the left of the handle.

“Excuse me Ms. Potts. Mr. Rüdiger is here.”

Okay, now he was totally confused. Evan thought he was going to be meeting with some HR flunkie to discuss his further employment options within the company, not have a direct conversation with the CEO of Stark Industries herself.

The reply from within the office was polite and friendly yet commanding all in one. “Thank you Emily, please let him in.”

Emily pulls the glass door open ahead of him and motions Evan to enter.  “Ms. Potts will see you now.”

Evan’s reply probably came out a bit quickly but he tried to mask his surprise, “thank you ma’am.”

And just a split second later he was standing in the office of one of the most powerful corporate heads in the entire world.

Virginia “Pepper” Potts stood from a couch to greet him, a warm smile capping her already bright, and quite beautiful, features.  She was wearing a slightly form-fitting above-knee white business dress with thick shoulder straps and holding what was likely her personal StarkPad.  This all somehow served to highlight the vibrant shades of red in her hair and her bright green eyes.

She extended her hand in greeting while offering up a genuine and blinding smile. “Hi Mr. Rüdiger. Please come in.”

“Ma’am” came Evan’s reply. He honestly wasn’t sure what he was supposed to be saying in this instance. He’s never met a CEO before, let alone the CEO of Stark Industries.

“Please, you can call me Pepper.”

“Then please call me Evan ma’am.  It’s very nice to meet you.”

Pepper gestured towards one of the couches in the room beside her. “It’s very nice to meet you as well.  Please take a seat and we can talk for a bit.”

Evan stepped over to the couch and took a seat on the far cushion.  What he wasn’t expecting was for Ms. Potts, Pepper, to take the seat next to his.  She certainly seemed nice enough but he still felt clueless as to what he was supposed to say or do in this situation.

Pepper quickly called up his employee file on her StarkPad as she began speaking to him. “So, Evan, I’ve had a chance to look over your employee records and noticed that you’ve filed an application request to move into a factory supervisor position as you transition into your fourth year of employment with us?”

“Yes ma’am, P-Pepper, sorry.” Evan stuttered slightly, his nerves getting the better of him. “I know that I’ve done good work on the factory line and I do enjoy working there but I’d like to try and move forward in my career if possible. Ma’am.”

Pepper smiled a soft but somehow reassuring smile in return.  “Well unfortunately, we don’t have any supervisory positions open on the factory line for this coming quarter.”

Evan tried to hide it, but he was visibly wilting with this information.  He didn’t want to be stuck on the assembly line for another year if he could help it.  He knew that he was doing what he could but it just felt like a dead-end to him unless he could work his way out of it.

“But, we might have a position in our Design and Implementation department opening up within the next two quarters.  Your educational background would be a good fit and we’re wondering if you’d like to adjust your application towards that position instead?” Pepper’s tone was light and airy, much like the room itself that they sat in.

Design and Implementation?  That was _the_ job he wanted. The one that he’s wanted ever since starting at Stark Industries out of college.  But there was no way his luck could possibly be _that_ good.  The offer he’d just heard had too much ‘might’ and ‘maybe’ in it for it to actually be worth it.

“I’m sorry ma’am, did you say Design?” it was hard even for Evan to get just that bit out in reply through his own doubts.

“I know that a lot of people say that Design team and R&D positions are only given to UFB citizens but Stark Industries always prides itself on being an Equal Opportunity employer and our team believes that your skills would be a bit better of a fit there. _If_ you’d like to change your application, that is,”  Pepper smiles.

“Um, yeah sure, I guess that would probably be better.” Again with the ‘maybes’ and ‘perhaps’ and uncertainty.

Pepper chanced a small glance upwards toward a set of darkened (tinted?) windows above her own office that looked out over the entire floor.  Evan would have probably missed it in his currently dumbstruck state but he seemed to catch the tail end of it as her eyes focused back on him.

Evan himself took a second to steal a glance up towards the other set of windows, and he thought he could make out the barely perceptible sign of motion.  He couldn’t be sure because of the tinting though.

He had to tell himself to focus; get his mind in the game.  The CEO of Stark Industries just turned you down for a promotion but also just offered you a sliver of hope at getting your dream job if you’re willing to stick it out for another six or so months as a factory flunkie for them.

He guessed he could do this, It’s not like his life was heading in any better directions very quickly.

“Yes, I think I’ll change my application then,” well, why the heck not.

Pepper smiled at him lightly. “That’s good to hear then.  I’ll let HR know and they’ll keep you posted on the position.”

While he’s here, he may as well ask about the mystery office looming over them, right? “I’m sorry ma’am, but is that another office up there?”

Pepper looked up towards the darkened windows, smiling again.  “That’s actually Tony Stark’s private lab.  He’s usually rather distant, has the manners of a baked potato and the attention span of a amnesiac goldfish, but he still manages to come up with some interesting new ideas every now and again.”  Pepper’s words were full of a sort of playful fondness that could only come from a familiarity with Stark himself that Evan couldn’t possibly grasp.

“Well thank you for the chance at that new position ma’am, even if it is a while away.”  Time for him to get back down to the factory and return to his life of blissful tediousness.

Pepper stood and once again offered her hand along with a light smile.  “It really was lovely to meet you.”

Evan stood and took her hand. “And you too ma’am. Thank you again.”

Once Emily had opened the office door and ushered Evan out and back towards the elevator, Pepper gestured over her StarkPad where the small corporate logo was softly blinking in the corner.  A moment later, the tinted windows above her office faded to clear and she looked up above her, nodding her head with a small smile at the face behind the glass.

 

* * *

 

So, the guy had come in looking completely surprised only to leave looking like someone had taken a giant dump in his perverbial Wheaties. But whatever, that wasn’t what the little charade of an interview going on below was for. No, that had another purpose entirely.

“JARVIS, what are the chances that this is our man?”

 _“Based upon the limited information provided by Mr. Fury through backdoor channels,”_ came the tinny but heavily accented response, _“there is a 96.8 percent probability that he is the man we are looking for.  Additionally, there is a further 99.9 percent chance that you would have ignored my analysis and acted upon your own intuition anyway.”_

“Huh, can’t argue with those numbers,” he said, scratching his overly styled goatee. “On a side note J, acquire some goldfish for me. I want to put Pepper’s attention span theory to the test.”

_“I must regret to inform you sir, that the species commonly referred to as ‘goldfish’ is now globally extinct.”_

“Hmm, in that case shoot an email off to Brucie-Bear. Let him know that I need him to clone some goldfish for me so I can conduct an experiment.”

_“Sir, I’m not entirely certain that’s such a…”_

“JARVIS, what _exactly_ do I pay you for again?” he interrupted the AI, overly playing up his front of being annoyed.

_“As of yet, you are not currently paying me at all sir. However, should you decide to change that policy, I will be sure to remind you of this conversation.”_

“Huh, right, I’ll pin that one up on the board for later.”

_“Very good sir.”_

“So, off with the email then” as he makes a shooing motion in the general direction of the nearest wall.

_“Yes sir. Your message has been sent.”_

“Good. Now prep the Quinjet and fire up the stealth systems. I need to make a trip out east to talk to a friend of ours.”

_“Of course sir.  Shall I inform Ms. Potts?”_

He considered the question. Pepper would likely worry if he jetted off before lunch without saying a word to her, and while she was peripherally ‘read-in’ on this particular little side ‘project,’ he much rather preferred to not come home to a worried, and likely sleep deprived, fiery  red-head in his house. Especially if it meant he’d have to camp out on the couch, again.

“Sure J. No details though. Just let her know that I won’t be home for dinner and not to wait up for me.”

_“Understood sir. Also, I have received a reply from Dr. Banner with regards to your request.”_

He raised an eyebrow.  “Well don’t hold me in suspense J.  Out with it.”

 _“My apologies sir, but Dr. Banner’s reply is simply_ ‘Fuck you.’”

He smiled.  Yup, totally worth it.

 

* * *

 

Pepper sat at her desk, reading over the latest quarterly report from the Commercial Products division when the music she had playing softly in the background faded out and a voice came over the speakers in its place.

_“Excuse me Ms. Potts.”_

“Yes JARVIS, what can I do for you?”

_“Mr. Stark has asked me to inform you that he will be coming home late tonight and will not make it in time for dinner.”_

“Thank you JARVIS” she smiled in reply. “Oh, can you tell me if Mr. Wilson is still in the building?”

 _“Of course. One moment please.”_ Then, after a few seconds, _“Mr. Wilson is currently at his desk. Would you like me to page him for you?”_

“No, thank you JARVIS.  That will be all.”

_“Of course Ms. Potts.”_

Pepper picked up her small sticky note pad and a pencil, jotting down a quick note before peeling it off.  Picking up her StarkPad and cradling it into her arm, she exited her office and made her way to the elevators.

 

* * *

 

With a clack and a hiss, the large hangar doors atop the central section of Stark Industries headquarters parted, remained open for a few seconds, and then slowly slid closed again. 

What no one noticed was the slight static tinge of active optical camouflage in the vague shape of an aircraft as it sped away, heading east by southeast.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So yeah, JARVIS is totally a little shit to Tony but in turn, Tony is also a little shit to JARVIS. They’re just little shits like that. Two peas in a pod and what not.
> 
> Yes, my descriptions of tech things can get REALLY technical but hey, I'm a nerd and I kind of nerded out when I started describing The Fall so you can all sue me or something. :P
> 
> Tech Note 1: The Fall, as it’s shown in Total Recall, is a cool idea with a horrible execution. There is no way in hell you’d build only a single transport tower for a system like that without the ability to run multiple ‘trains’ through it. So, to fix that, The Fall in my version consists of three towers arranged in a triangle with their backs facing one another. This gives The Fall three tracks for the ‘trains’ and creates a void between the three towers for another maintenance shaft. The maintenance shaft becomes important later on, so it does actually serve a purpose.
> 
> Tech Note 2: Tony’s Quinjet is the one from Age of Ultron/Civil War, which I have lovingly dubbed the XV-7, except it’s been painted black/gray like the ones used by SHIELD because that’s like 1000% more cool looking and because stealth tech and shit (I dunno...lol). SHIELD, for the most part, will use the V-6C Quinjet (from The Winter Soldier). My own variant, the V-6D/E (engines of the Quinjet from Winter Soldier but has the wings of the Quinjet from Avengers (yes, they are slightly different aircraft in the movies) will probably also make an appearance, but who knows yet.


	3. Then it all got Rekalled

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Evan goes home and rethinks his life, goes out for a beer with Sam, and then has an adventure where he makes a new (old?) friend.

After his completely unexpected meeting with Pepper Potts, Evan just floated through the rest of his work day while stuck in a murky gray haze.

He’d returned to the factory floor after eating lunch in the employee cafeteria, making small talk with Clint as Legionnaire after Legionnaire moved through their stations. Once they completed their shift and headed back to the employee lockers, Evan saw a note on his locker from Sam.

_Need to run errands, had to jet early. Will be at the bar later if you and Brock are out tonight. -Sam_

Guess that means Evan would just have to make the trip home by himself.  Changing out of his factory coveralls and back into his street clothes, Evan headed out to the glide train.

 

* * *

 

The commute back on The Fall was as uneventful as ever.  Evan went through his usual routine of heading to the gym to lift, showering, changing back into his street clothes and then heading home to Brock.

Once he stepped in the front door, he noticed that the lights were dimmed. Checking his watch it was already nearly 7pm.  He walked over to the fridge to grab a bottle of water.

As he closed the fridge door, an automatic message popped up on the touch screen written in messy finger writing:

_Had a long day, went to bed early, sweet dreams babe -xoxo_

Evan looked over towards the bed and saw Brock sprawled out on it in just his sweats, sleeping soundly.  He couldn’t help but smile fondly, imagining the hectic ordeal he must have had to endure today after the bombing clean up.

Swiping a hand to remove the message, he looked at the pictures they had loaded onto it as they expanded to their original sizes.  The top one was of them, both in their tuxedos at their wedding, grinning like idiots.  The picture below that was of them both wearing winter jackets as they took a selfie while seated on a bench together next to the water in Greenwich.  The last one was of Brock aiming an exploding soda can at a helpless Evan with his hands up, trying to block it.

Evan couldn’t help but feel like these memories should mean more to him. But somehow, even though he could remember each one of them in their simplicity at the time, his dream from the morning seemed to hang over him like a storm cloud that was about to break open and wash it all away.

Okay sure, Brock had even said that this wasn’t the life that they had dreamed of as kids. But, that didn’t mean it wasn’t still a good life.  More like halfway decent life.  If he could only somehow manage to keep this dream from making him feel like he was cheating on Brock without even knowing how or why then maybe he’d feel better about it all.

Suddenly he remembered Sam’s note on his locker from earlier.  Maybe going out for a couple drinks would help calm his nerves.

Walking over towards the door, he grabbed his jacket from the open coat closet and slipped out quietly, being careful not to wake Brock from his sleep.

 

* * *

 

The bar was relatively busy for a Monday night but hey, maybe these people just wanted to start their miserable weeks off with a bang.

Sam sat at the bar, nursing a cheap beer while lazily taking in the game currently playing on TV.  Man, what the hell had he gotten himself into?

A year ago, SHIELD had contacted him, asking for his assistance in monitoring a potential ‘recruitment’ subject. In exchange, they would set him up with a cushy job in the HR department of Stark Industries.  Considering that he’d been doing part-time counseling with the VA outside of London and was living in a crap little apartment in The Colony with barely enough room for himself, it was one hell of an easy decision to take the job.  All he really had to do for them was send in one email a week that covered the basics of how one Evan Rüdiger was doing day to day.  Did he seem healthy?  Was he in good spirits?  How was his family life?  He could barely believe his luck at being asked to do something so mundane and simple.

Then, as of today, he was thrown for a complete loop.

During the later part of his shift, Ms. Potts herself came through the HR offices with one of the office assistants, Emily he thought her name was, talking together about management reports or something about personnel records.  Then, as they had walked by his desk, a small sticky note had fallen from under the StarkPad she was carrying to land unceremoniously on his desk calendar.

By the time he registered that the note was even there, the two women had left the office space entirely.  Glancing down at the note, he saw a short message written in perfect penmanship:

_Cease observation tonight. Keep subject discouraged.  Will be in contact._

Now this was really turning into some old school spy shit. Seriously.  He was simply not cut out for this crap.

It’s then that he glanced up from his beer to see Evan making his way over from the door.

“What’s up, man?” Sam asked as Evan took a seat in the bar stool next to his.

“Hey Sam,” came the reply along with a curt smile.

“Heard about the position. Did you decide to change your application?”

“Yeah man, yeah.  Just going to have to wait it out down in the factory for longer first.”

“Brock working tonight?”

Evan considered lying for a second, but it didn’t seem worth the effort. “Nah. He sacked out after work. Had a long day.”

“Uh huh, I bet.”

Evan waved to get the bartender’s attention then pointed to Sam’s beer.  “Hey Stan, same?”

A commercial came on the TV at that moment showing some kind advertisement for digital speed painting on some new-fangled electronic easel of sorts.  For some reason, this caught Evan’s attention.

He pointed at the TV. “You ever get into art, like painting and stuff?  I always wanted to take some art classes for some reason.”

“Dude, what's with you today?” Sam asked.  This is now literally the third random thing he’s heard come out of Evan’s mouth in the past 24 hours.

“What?”

“I thought you’d at least be a _little_ happy about the chance at a new position but you’ve just been zoned out all day.”

“Sorry. Haven’t been sleeping all that well. I've been having these dreams.” Evan looked forlornly at the top of the glass of beer now sitting in front of him.

“Dreams?”

“Yeah, feels like I'm doing something.”

“Something…”

“Something that matters, something important, you know?”

“You know man, I don’t know.” Okay, what the hell was he getting at now anyway? “You don't think your job is important?”

“Really? Come on, Sam. Brock and I commute halfway around the world for bottom-line jobs, to get bottom-line pay, to come to this bottom-line bar and get drunk on too much bottom-line beer.  No offense Stan,” Evan put his hands up in a mock gesture of surrender.

The wizened old man at the bar simply shrugged and continued wiping the moisture off where he’d just poured drinks.

“Yeah, so”

“What? Are you actually happy with how your life's turned out?”

“Dude, you just found out you could be moving up in the world and you think there’s something wrong with your life?” Seriously, what the hell was Evan’s deal?  All Sam could think about was the fact that he’d be damn grateful for the offer he just got. But then again, maybe it was his home life. Maybe things with Brock weren’t exactly paradise.

“No. You know what? You're right. Forget it.” At this point, Evan couldn’t even decide how he felt about anything right now.

“Hey man…”

“No, it’s cool Sam.  Guess I’m just a bit worn out is all. Forget it.”

They sat there for the next hour or so in silence, lazily watching the game on the screen above them.  Sam ended up downing his first beer and ordering five more while Evan barely drank half of his first one.

Once the game was over, Sam motioned to the door. “Well I’m gonna head out, man.”

Evan gave him good thump on the shoulder. “All right, Sam. See ya tomorrow.”

Sam was finding it a bit hard to focus after downing six ‘bottom-line’ beers in an hour and a half, but he felt that he needed to say something to Evan before leaving.  “Hey, dude. My advice?”

“Yeah, go ahead.”

“Figure out a way to deal with whatever the hell it is you're going through before you mess your shit up for good.”

Evan just smirked in response.

Stepping away from his bar stool, Sam’s world seemed to take a few extra seconds to level itself out.  “It's possible I might have drank too much.”

“Yeah, it's possible, Sam.”

Pointing towards the door, “I'm going to go throw up on something now.”

“You do that buddy.”

“And you're going to get your shit together and go home to your husband, you hear me?” Okay, that was probably a little loud, even in his own ears.

“Yeah, I think everyone heard you, Sam.” Evan had to shake his head at that one.

“Night, Evan.”

“Good night Sam.”

He didn’t really feel like sticking around the bar much longer after Sam left to go home.  Paying his tab with Stan, Evan walked out onto the street while wrapping his jacket a bit tighter around himself.

What was he doing?  Maybe Sam was right.  Maybe he needed to get his shit together and just go home.  Maybe he could just set aside the crap in his head and make due with what he had.

But there was still that stupid dream. That stupid dream that hit him on random days but always at the same stupid time of the morning with that stupid-hot guy and his stupid-hot eyes and stupid-hot ass.

He seriously felt stupid about himself for having conflicting feelings about this dream.  And with that, his decision was made.

 

* * *

 

It took him a bit longer than expected to find it but after receiving directions from this phenomenally ripped (prostitute?) dude that had three pectoral muscles (he still couldn’t figure out if that was weird, hot, weirdly hot, or just flat out ‘ _no thank you_ ’) Evan finally made his way to the front door of Rekall.

It was nestled in a back corner of Sydney’s run down Sino-Nihon District most famously known for being full of teens and twenty-somethings looking to get glow-inked, laid, drunk, high, or all of the above.

Once he stepped through the doors though, he saw that Rekall had very little in common with the District in which it was housed.

The walls and furniture were done in an exceptionally replicated ancient Tibetan style with smooth surfaces and what appeared to be deep cherry wood panels.  Incense stalks were set about the foyer, lightly burning as their mixed aromas filled the room with a soothing air.

He nervously walked up to the front counter at the back of the entry where a young, olive-skinned woman smiled pleasantly at him.

“Welcome to Rekall. This your first time?” She had a hint of a gentle smile now.

“Is it that obvious?”  He probably sounded just as nervous as he felt.

She smiled again. “It's fine.  There's nothing to be afraid of.  This is a safe place.”

He fished the holo card out of his jacket pocket and handed it to the girl.  “I’m Evan. My friend Clint gave me this card, told me to ask for Killian.”

She took the card and tilted her head slightly as if to ask a question, but instead she just said “please follow me.”

He was led down a side hallway and towards a large, locked door.  The girl keyed the lock and the door slid open.  She gestured inside. “He’s right through here.”

“Thanks,” came his tight reply.

Then as the door was closing behind him the girl says softly, “Remember to have a good time.”

Evan took in the scenery of the room. Big, inset space set a half level down at the back of the room.  Tall wooden pillars, also keeping with the ancient Tibetan style of the decor, supported the room at intervals throughout.  In the inset area there was what appeared to be a type of chair apparatus flanked by multiple holo-computer terminals.

Looking to the right he saw a large work desk. From behind it a man approached him that had almost shoulder length dirty blonde hair and gold-rimmed glasses.

“Welcome, I’m Killian.”

“Hey.”

“You're a friend of Clint's.” It was a statement more than a question.

“Yes.” he was quick to reply. “Yeah, we work together.”

Evan gestured over toward the chair at the back of the room. “Is that it?”

“That is it.”

“And it feels like real life?”

“What is life but our brain's chemical perception of it?  Your eyes see, your brain chemistry reacts.  Here, we just remove the middleman and we go straight to the chemistry.  Does that make it any less real?”

“An illusion, no matter how convincing, is still just an illusion.”  And now his doubts are making him wax philosophical over this.  Come on Evan, just man up and go through with it.

“That's very good.”  Killian seemed to take all of his retorts in stride.  “You're right, objectively. But from the inside, subjectively… I assure you, it's quite the opposite entirely.”

Killian continued “listen, I get it. You're here because you feel like some thing's missing. You got some tug, some longing for something more. We're going to give you that thing.”

“Is that right?” Well let’s at least see what they’re offering then.

“Could be something you could never afford to do. Something secret you've always wanted

to try, but you would never, ever dare.”

“What do you mean, secret?” Now this was starting to hit a little too close to home for Evan.

“Anything:  Tell us your fantasy. We'll give you the memory. You want to be rich and famous? Worshiped by millions? Maybe something with a little more adrenaline, huh? Crime fighter? Or world-class athlete? Secret agent. That's you. Right? Clandestine bank accounts, coded messages.”

Okay yeah, this was super close to home now, but what the hell. “Secret agent. I could do that.”

Somehow, Killian never skipped a beat. “Yeah, as an intelligence operative. You could be working for the Resistance. Maybe you work for Chancellor Pierce. Or why limit yourself? Why not both?” He gestured toward the chair below, guiding Evan as they walked down the steps before them.

Evan gave the chair one last glance before he took off his jacket, handing it to one of the assistants and then took his seat.

Killian moved over to a case embedded in the side wall where he removed a vial coded with letters and numbers down the side, walking it back over and handing it to the female assistant.

“One last thing, Evan. As a matter of full disclosure, none of the secret life elements you chose can actually be true. See, the thing is, a lot of guys come in here and they want the secret mistress trip when they already have one, a real one, on the side. You see, we can't do that. It would cause irreparable conflict and confusion. That's how brains get blown.”

Wow, way to kill the mood but no, he didn’t have a mistress (or mister?) on the side. “Don't worry, I don't have any secrets.”

“I'm sure you don't, but just in case, we're going to run a psycho-polygraphic panel on you anyway.”  Killian gestured towards one of the assistants to start the polygraph.

The female assistant turned towards him and he noticed that her features were striking, yet somehow familiar, as though he should know her.  She had shoulder-length straight fire-red hair and piercing green eyes.  He didn’t know for sure but he could swear that her facial features looked to be of Russian descent, but she wore her stylized ankle-length Japanese kimono extremely well.  For a second he actually thought that if he were into women, then she would definitely be his type.

She gently wiped down his right bicep and into the crook of his elbow with an alcohol pad as she smiled and spoke to him with a slightly brokenly intoned voice. “Don’t worry handsome. You’ll be fine.”

Killian managed to snap him out of his momentary distraction with a clap of his hands. “Well look at that. It looks like your husband does have a man who appreciates him.  No conflict there.”

Once Killian and his male assistant had seemingly finished flipping through their various holo-screens, the vial from before was readied into the machine on the side of the chair and a needle was inserted into his arm.

“All right. Let's get this show on the road. Get ready to save the world. Happy trails, man. You can tell me all about it when you get… Wait…”

Evan sat forward at that. “What?”

“Shit,” came the man’s reply.

“Shit? What is it? What's wrong?” Evan had known this was all too good to be true.

Killian pointed at Evan’s arm. “Yank that needle out before it takes!”

“What is it? What's wrong?”

“You lied.”

Wait, huh? What did he lie about? “Lied about what?”

“You son of a bitch.”

Holy crap, what was going on with him? “Look, I don't have a mistress. What are you talking about?”

“Mistress? You're a goddamn spy.”

What in the actual fuck?! “Wait, what, I’m not a spy!”

A split second later and Killian had a chromed silver pistol pointed at Evan’s head “Why are you here?! Why?!”

That’s when the room erupted.

The next thing he knew, there were SHIELD agents barging in through the opening door, guns drawn on all of them.

The agent at the front was yelling at them now. “SHIELD, Stand down now!”

Killian moved the pistol from where it was pointing at Evan’s head and made to get a shot off at the first Agent but before he even managed to get one shot off at all, the Agents moving into the room had gunned him down and, from what he could tell out of his peripheral vision, the other assistants in the room.

Not knowing what else to do, Evan jumped down from the chair, kneeled on the ground and put his hands up in the air in surrender.  He was sweating profusely and on the verge of panic.

All the agents in the room were moving to surround him with the lead agent still doing all the yelling. “SHIELD! On your feet now!”

 _Shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit_.  “No, wait! This is all a mistake! It's all…”

“On your feet, now!”

“Okay, okay. I'm nobody. I'm nobody.” He felt like he was practically on the verge of a panic attack; what the hell had he gotten himself into now?

“Hands on your head, now!”

“Okay.” His voice was now hoarse and cracking as he placed his hands on the back of his head. He could feel the sweat pouring down his neck now, nerves shot completely to hell.

“Turn around!”

“Okay. Okay.” As he slowly turned around, he could see the bodies of Killian and his crew laying on the floor, puddles of blood slowly forming around them. Forming around all of them but one.

The red-haired woman. She wasn’t bleeding. Her eyes were open and she was looking directly at him from where she lay on the floor.

Then, as the gloved hand of the agent behind him made contact with his own hand, she winked at him.

That’s when instinct seemed to take over.

Evan grabbed the agent’s hand, spun him around like an old-timey ballroom dance move so the man’s arm was wrapped around his own neck and grabbed his opposite hand which was holding his pistol. Raising that hand and using the agent as a living shield, he shot the agent directly behind him, then the one off to his left.  Two shots, two kills.

From off to his right the red-haired woman had launched herself off of the floor and bodily onto another agent, climbing him like some kind of crazed spider on a mission as she wrapped her thighs around his head and twisted, snapping his neck.  She deftly rolled off his slumping body and was off toward her next target.

Reversing his earlier dance-like move, Evan spun the agent back around, pulling the pistol out of the his grip while levelling it at the man’s neck and fired.  Third shot, third kill.

Red was now vaulting up to the upper level of the room and had snagged another agent by the front of his body armor, pulling him over the railing to land on his head with a decisive ‘pop.’ Her second kill.

Evan registered another agent to making a move towards him from the left. Quickly aiming the pistol in his hand for another neck shot, he fired and immediately dropped that pistol as the now dead agent’s momentum continued to carry him forward with a fresh pistol still in his slackening grip. Fourth shot, fourth kill.

He easily grabbed the falling pistol with his right hand while managing to spin the dead agent on his feet with his left before sliding both of his arms under the dead man’s armpits to support the weight and steady his own firing hand.

The agents on his side of the room on the upper level managed to snap off several shots but the dead man took all of them. Evan simply adjusted his aim and fired one quick shot at each of the two agents above him, killing both.  That was shots and kills five and six.

He then unwrapped his left arm from his formerly-living shield and pushed the agent to the floor on top of the others in front of him and leveled his pistol at the door.

At the same time, Red had managed to pull off a snap-shot on the last remaining agent, dropping him. Kill three for her.

And just like that, Evan stood in the center of the room surrounded by nine dead SHIELD agents and a rather smugly impressed looking red-head.

Realization dawning upon him, Evan dropped the pistol from his hand. “Holy shit!”

“Damn,” said Red. “Six to three. Last time we did this you took out seven of them. You’re slipping.”

The hell did she just say?! “What? Slipping?”

There was a commotion out in the hall and more agents appeared from around a corner. “SHIELD. Freeze!”

Evan dove to the left to get out of the line of sight of the door as bullets began pouring through. Red made a quick dash for the door panel and managed to get the door closed and locked before running down to where Evan was on the lower level.

There was a loud ‘bang’ just then as what appeared to be a high-yield grenade was shot through the door and landed in the center of the room.

Jumping up, Evan grabbed the top of the bookcase against the nearest wall and brought it down over the grenade. ‘That should direct the impact down’ came his instinctual thought.

Then quickly grabbing a pistol from the floor he leveled it at the glass wall leading to an office on the side of the room and snapped off two quick shots, splintering the glass. He then grabbed Red in a summation of a bridal carry and dove through the window with her, shattering it and rolling both of them into a crouch on the floor.

They barely had a chance to back up against the wall before the grenade detonated, blowing out the floor under where it had lain with the bookcase on top of it.

Grabbing Red’s hand, he pulled her along with him and then jumped into the hole in the floor, taking her with.

With adrenaline surging the pair dropped out of Rekall’s sub-level onto a fire escape and began building hopping from ledge to ledge, making their way further away from the scene they had both just created.

When they were about eight buildings away, Red stopped them both on a balcony that was shielded out of direct sight of any adjoining streets or trafficways.

“Wow, looks like you haven’t gone as soft as I thought you would have.” There was a teasing air to her voice, like a little sister would tease an older brother.

Evan was panting and confused, and neither were helping him wrap his mind around what had just happened.

“Soft? What? What the hell was that?”

She raised an eyebrow at him. “I would have thought that was obvious. You just opened up a whole can of whoop-ass on a bunch of government pee-ons like they didn’t even exist.”

How could she be so casual about...about... whatever the hell that was that just happened?!

“What are… who the hell are you?”

“Aww c’mon,” she cooed. “Now you’re just being mean.”

“Mean? What?”

“So I guess my cover is blown now. We should probably split up to make us harder to track.”

“Look lady, I don’t know who you think I am but…”

“That’s okay. I usually just pretend I know everything, but in this case, I actually do.”

She gave him a quick, but fond looking smile, and then dropped off the balcony ledge.

By the time Evan had dashed to the edge she was gone from sight, having blended into the night of the city.

‘Holy shit,’ he thought. “What the hell just happened?!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> C'mon, you guys know who she is! :D
> 
> And yes, that was Stan Lee tending bar in The Colony. Figured I owed the guy his usual contract cameo because, well, his characters and all.


	4. Until Death do I part Us

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stark unleashes his snark on Fury, Evan makes it home where things start to make even less sense, and then it's off to the races!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first scene in the chapter jumps back to shortly after lunch time during the last chapter. The scene after picks up where Chapter 3 left off, following the incident at Rekall. Also, this chapter has smut but I’m probably not all that good at writing decent smut, so yeah...
> 
> Also, there is a scene where the main character performs a little "minor surgery" on himself, so if that's a trigger or not your thing, be warned. It's towards the end of the chapter.

Tony Stark reclined in the pilot’s seat of his personal Quinjet, feet propped up on the control console to his right while he looked out the lower cockpit viewport.  He could just start to see the terminus line where the expansive eucumenopolis of the UFB ended and the chemically ravaged lands of the European Wastes began.  The towering chemical barrier wall that ran along the terminus line, another miraculous invention of his father, literally marked the end of line for land that could sustain life and the land that could, and would, end it.

He was pulled from his reverie when he noticed that his customary soundtrack of classical 20th century hard rock had faded out, only to be replaced with JARVIS’ voice.

_“Pardon the intrusion sir, but we are now within encrypted narrow-band transmission range of Sokovia.”_

Well now it was time to get down to business. “Okay J, bring up the standard transmission frequency.  Regular encryption protocol. The usual spy shit. All that jazz.”

 _“One moment sir.”_ Tony only had to wait a split second before JARVIS finished his task.   _“Transmission line is open sir. Audio only.”_

Tony leaned down towards the microphone stand in the control console, which was a useless motion as it was tuned to pick up any audio source within a ten-foot radius.  “Hey Nick. Nicky-poo. Nick-at-Night, St. Nick. You in there?”

“Mr. Stark. To what do I owe the pleasure?” And there he was. The ever ‘lovable’ Fury, Nicholas J.

“Oh you know. The usual. Doing your dirty work and trying to save the world and what not.”

“Is that so?”

“Yep. So, anyway, enough with the pleasantries. I found our man.”

“Are you certain Stark?”

“Yeah, I’m what? 96.8 percent certain. Right JARVIS?”

_“That is correct sir. I’m transmitting the analysis now.”_

Fury seemed to mull over the information that was being sent before answering.  “It seems our intelligence gathering agrees with your determination.  Have you taken any action on this yet?”

“No, Pepper took care of all that. Give him a nudge in the right direction. You know, I really should be mad that your roped her into all this convoluted spy crap but, you know, the world needs saving.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about Stark.”

“Yeah, sure you don’t. Anyway, just wanted to let you know.”

“I have _Widow_ in place on site to assist, if needed.”

“Yeah, I’m sure you do. Listen, I’m probably going to go silent here for a while. I’ve been at this long enough running errands for you that I’m _pretty_ sure Pierce suspects something is up at SI.”

There was a notable tone of concern in Fury’s voice now. “Are you certain of that?”

“No? Yes? Maybe? I dunno.  Look, if I go off grid, and I mean _totally_ off grid, don’t do anything about it. I’m a big boy and I can take care of myself.”

“If you say so Stark, but I at least wish you’d let me put someone on the ground to assist you.”

“No thanks Nick. Your ‘gifts’ tend to come with pretty little strings attached and that just gets all sorts of messy. So yeah, I’m good.”

“Alright, Stark,” Fury acquiesced. “Is that all?”

“Yup. Be seeing you around. Maybe.” And with that Tony cut the line.

So, that was what it was and now to go clean things up in his own house. This was all going to hell in a handbasket, and fast.

“JARVIS, turn this tub around and get us home.  I need to put the finishing touches on my little pet project.”

_“Right away sir. Setting course for Bristol.”_

* * *

It took nearly another 30 minutes for Evan to make his way back to his and Brock’s apartment thanks to having to stick to alleys and backstreets to avoid SHIELD patrols and Iron Legion mechs.

When he finally made it to their door, he quickly flung it open to see Brock pacing along near the foot of their bed, phone up to his ear, and the news blaring on the screen above.

_Reporter:  “In what is being described as a terrorist attack, a solitary gunman opened fire on a squadron of SHIELD law enforcement agents at the Rekall Lounge in the Sino-Nihon District on the outskirts of Sydney.  We are still awaiting word  on precisely how many casualties there are.”_

Brock hadn’t noticed Evan walking in yet and was still talking on his phone. “Yes. Okay, I understand, yeah.  Thanks for the heads up.”

_Reporter:  “But officials now confirming that at least 20 officers have been killed.”_

As Brock hung up the call, that’s when he looked up towards the door. “Oh, my God, Evan!”

“Brock” Evan said, sounding relieved.”I'm so glad you're here.”

“Of course I'm here. I've been going out of my mind. Where the hell have you been?”

“Look, something bad has happened.”

“No, I know. I just got the call,” as he motioned towards the TV above the bed. “We've all been put on standby for medical response.”

“No, Brock. You don't understand.” He was gripping the sides of his head with his hands and was once again on the verge of panicking.

“What? Oh, my God. Evan, are you okay?”

“Brock, it wasn't the Resistance who killed those agents. It wasn't terrorists. It was me!”

Now brock had a look of disbelief plastered on his face. “What was you?”

“Brock, I’m the one who killed them!”

An eyebrow shot up. “You killed 20 armed men?”

“No. No, it was more like nine or ten.”

“But you killed them? With what, babe, your blinding smile?”

“Brock, look, I'm serious.” Evan reached out to grab his shoulders but Brock took a step back from him.

“Evan, you're freaking me out!”

“I'm sorry, babe. I’m so sorry. This is going to sound crazy, okay? I went to Rekall after work…”

“You what?! What did they do to you?”

“Nothing.”

“Nothing? They did nothing?”

Evan’s thoughts were running a mile a minute and he could barely keep up with himself.  “I sat in the chair, they hooked me up. But before they could do anything, a bunch of agents burst in and they tried to take me and I just reacted. And I killed them.”

“Listen, you didn't kill anyone, Evan.”

“No trust me, I killed them.”

“No, sweetheart, don't you see? Whatever you think you did had nothing to do with any of this.” Brock said while gesturing towards the TV again.  “Those assholes screwed with your mind, and now you're having some

kind of a paranoid delusional fallout.”

Evan wilted at his explanation.

Brock could see the stress winding through his body so he stepped forward and threaded his arms around Evan’s waist, laying his head on his chest. “Those kinds of places are really dangerous. But whatever it is that happened, we're going to get through it. Okay?”

Evan sighed audibly and wrapped his arms around Brock’s shoulders. Leave it to his husband to know exactly how to calm his nerves when he got worked up.

Brock looked up into Evan’s eyes. “You know babe, imagining you doing that though, is really damn hot.”

Evan smirked. “Yeah?”

“Hell yeah. You’re telling me I could be married to some super-soldier secret agent badass?  You know _exactly_ how to get me hot for you babe.” With that, he started palming Evan’s crotch through his jeans. He himself was already boned hard in his sweats and he could feel that what he’d said to and about Evan already had the man hardening behind the denim in his palm. He gave him a gentle push so that he was backed up against the dresser, half open drawers ajar on one side.

“Man I want you right now!” And without another second’s wait, Brock managed to unbutton Evan’s jeans and yank them, along with his underwear, down to his ankles in a single motion. “Fuck you are so hot babe. I’m gonna make you feel so good.”

Shock and the heat of longing hit Evan both at the same time, making him equal parts confused and completely turned on. He stared on, almost like a spectator, as Brock shimmied out of his sweats and kicked them aside, leaving him in nothing but his socks.

Brock stepped back up to Evan, placing his right foot up on one of the open drawers so that as he leaned into Evan, Evan’s cock head was rubbing up right between his balls and his hungry pucker. He reached up and put a calloused palm over the back of Evan’s neck and pulled him down the few intervening inches to plaster his lips with a passionate kiss.

Evan’s head was swimming with adrenaline, testosterone, and God knows what else right now.  He’d just killed a room full of armed SHIELD agents and run half-way across town in fear of his life, only to be somehow accosted by his now ravenously randy husband.

Feeling the flow of pre-cum increasing from the cock head rubbing up against his hole, Brock rocked his hips in a gentle circular motion, spreading the natural lube around as he readied himself to take Evan in.

Gasping through the kiss, Evan reeled as he felt the slight give of flesh as his dick was enveloped in the warm and excruciatingly tight confines of his husband’s insides.

Brock took a few, agonizingly long, seconds to slide himself down Evan’s member before bottoming out. “Oh fuck babe, you’re fucking huge. I love it when you’re inside me.”

“Uh, God Brock,” was the only response he could muster. Evan wrapped his arms around Brock’s back and pulled him in even tighter. He knew Brock was an extremely active and strong bottom when it came to sex but it still managed to get him right in his most gooey parts every time. He felt entirely helpless as Brock clenched and unclenched around his cock while moving with short, jerking motions up and down the thick shaft.

Evan never could last long under the kinds of things Brock did to him. It wasn’t much longer than a couple minutes before he started to feel the build deep inside of him, like a drum increasing in the strength with which it beat. His heart was hammering harder and harder in his chest, tension drawing his body tight.  He was flexing all of his muscles into his husband by now “oh, you’ve got me so close babe.”

“Yeah, c’mon babe. Give it all to me” Brock said as he bore down even harder on his husband’s impressive cock. “You’re gonna make me blow my load too.”

With the tension building exponentially, Evan was right there at the point-of-no-return. Shifting a hand down to the small of his husband’s back, he buried his face in the side of Brock’s neck right as the dam inside of him broke.

“Oh God, shit!” was the last coherent thing to leave his mouth before his vocabulary was reduced to only words comprised of the letters u, n, g, and h, though not exclusively in that order.

Brock clenched down hard on Evan’s throbbing cock as he felt shot after shot fire off inside of him.  His own heady desire having built up to this point, he himself rode Evan’s orgasm over the edge and right into his own.  Reaching a hand down to hold his cock tight, he shot his own load all over his own chest and abs, white streamers painting him with the clear (actually white) evidence of his own pleasure.

As the two of them rode out their orgasms together, the sex fog began to clear from Evan’s mind. He had wanted a better life for himself and Brock but this was definitely _not_ the sort of day that had factored into any of that.

After another minute or so, Brock eased himself up off of Evan’s softening cock and clenched his ass tight, feeling the man’s seed coating his insides.  He padded over to the bed and used one of his discarded shirts to wipe himself off before grabbing his EMT pants and stepping into them, pulling them up and cinching the belt down.  It felt good to go commando under these pants for some reason. He’d have to file that one away for later.

Evan slowly reached down and pulled up his underwear and pants again, buttoning them around his waist before leaning back onto the dresser again.

Brock looked at the specimen of a man in front of him and thought to himself ‘Damn I could take him all day now but I guess it’s time to earn my paycheck.’ He walked back over to Evan and put one arm over a shoulder and the other under the opposite armpit in a tight embrace.

“You know that was amazing right?” Brock was smiling up at him now.

“Yeah? You were pretty amazing yourself.”

“Nah, but you know what? It's okay babe, we'll figure this shit out.” he said as he tightened his grip around Evan’s chest and back.

“I’m so sorry babe, I really am.”

“Shhh, Shhh, it’s okay.” Brock added more pressure to the hug.  He needed to get this done quick or they were in for one hell of a night.

Evan could feel his husband’s grip tightening more and more around his upper body. “Brock, hey. I can't breathe.” Still getting tighter. “Come on.”

Brock’s grip went tighter still. “What the hell are you doing?”

And then his instincts kicked in again.

Evan spun him and Brock around slamming Brock back into the dresser, loosening his grip around him before shoving away from him with both hands.

“Brock, what the…” and Brock was charging at him. Evan dodged a punch aimed at the side of his head, only to have another one land on his midsection.  He and Brock were a blur of hands and arms, blocking, punching, and deflecting one another until Evan managed to shove him hard enough to to make room to kick him and send Brock tumbling over the side of the bed.

“What the hell Brock?!”

Popping into a crouch by the side of the bed, Brock reached back into his EMT bag and pulled out a black pistol, cocking the hammer back and leveling it at Evan’s chest.

“Holy shit!” and he dove for the relative safety of the kitchen partition as Brock got off a quick succession of shots that all landed in the wall behind where he had just been standing. Noticing the light controls above where he’d landed, Evan smacked them, shutting off all the lights in the apartment and leaving only the light from the TV and the windows remaining.

“Brock, goddamn it, what are you doing?” he yelled back over his shoulder.

“My job.” was his husband’s only reply.

“What?! Are you crazy?”

“Am I crazy? That's a good one, Evan. Considering you don't even know who the hell you are.” Brock made his way up to kneeling on the bed, gun still pointed towards where Evan had landed in the kitchen. “Do you really believe a factory worker could take out an entire room of highly-trained agents?”

Why the hell was his damn day going further and further down the fracking rabbit hole?! “Tell me what’s going on. Talk!”

Brock smirked. “Or we can skip straight to ‘Until death do us part.’"

Evan could make out the sound of moving feet, knowing that Brock was making his way slowly toward the kitchen. He didn’t know how, but he somehow knew exactly where his husband would be approaching from and without any further hesitation jumped up over the counter and threw out a kick that connected with the pistol in Brock’s hands and sent it flying across the room.

Brock jumped back around their dining table and took up a defensive stance. “I'm not your husband.”

Evan shook his head. “What?! That's bullshit. We've been married almost five years!”

“I'm SHIELD, Strike Team, assigned to play your husband. A year ago, I didn't even know you existed.”

Why couldn’t anyone make sense to Evan today? “What are you talking about?”

“It's true. Your memory was replaced, your mind was implanted with a life you think you've lived.”

Evan slowly began moving towards the back of the apartment and the window located there, all while keeping the dining table between him and brock.

The smile on Brock’s face was sinister and venomous now. “You keeping up, babe? There is no Evan Rüdiger, there never was.”

“Are you saying I don't… This… But what we just did…” he motioned towards the dresser where they had just had, what he had to admit, was _really_ damn good sex.  “Our marriage…”

Full on smirk now. “What can I say? I take it like a damn good husband.” And a wink to finish it off.  “Come on. Deep down, did you really believe someone like me would marry someone like you and live in this shithole?”

Sense, something need to make sense like yesterday. “If I'm not me, then who the hell am I?”

“How the fuck would I know hot stuff? I just work here.”

Was Brock actually leering at him now? He looked like he wanted to have sex with Evan again, not kill him. Maybe for Brock, those two things weren’t entirely unrelated. That sent a shiver down his spine at that thought...

This is now all kinds of bat-shit crazy. Evan faced him again. “Speculate.”

Brock shrugged. “If I had to guess, all the trouble Pierce's taken to hide you away, you must be fairly important. And with your skill set, I think it's highly doubtful you're his gardener.”

The Chancellor of the UFB? What… “P-Pierce's trying to hide me?” This was making less and less sense by the second. “Why are you trying to kill me? Talk!”

“Call it five-year itch, Evan. And by the way, you haven't even begun to see me try to kill you!” And with that Brock was vaulting over the table and making a go for where his pistol had landed when it was kicked away.

Shit. Evan was now backed up against the book shelves next to the window and he turned to grab the bookend he knew would be on the third shelf. Gripping it solidly by the bottom, he swung the heavy object at the center of the window and used his own bodyweight to push both it and himself through and out just before two bullets came whizzing out of the window as he fell.

The fall wasn’t far, just to the top of the awning over the balcony below, but he’d put enough momentum into getting out of the window that he rolled right off of it and then free fell two more floors and through the next one, landing on a pile of cardboard boxes someone had left on their porch. Pure, dumb, blind luck.

Looking up he saw Brock was jumping out of the apartment window, and now they had a chase on.

Brock tapped the earpiece he had picked up just before jumping. “Team three, break position.  I need you on-site and in pursuit now!”

The reply came immediately “Strike two seven, understood.”

Jumping down from balcony to balcony, Brock issued one last order before concentrating on the pursuit. “I want his phone back on the grid yesterday!  Start tracking his movement.”

Evan rarely hazarded a glance backwards as he ran through the maze of suburban development that was their neighborhood. Why the hell had whoever designed these buildings decided to base them off of those stupid Escher drawings?

He knew Brock would be hot on his six if he even gave him one iota of a chance to catch up.

Jumping from one roof onto a lower balcony, Evan managed to lose control of his momentum and smashed right through a window and directly into the kitchen of a family that was in the middle of eating dinner.  The two startled parents and their three kids, all scattered from the table and sought cover around the room as he stood up from the field of safety glass shards he’d accidentally created. As he began to step forward, a shadow fell over the dining room table in front of him through the skylight above.

Damn. Brock already.

Evan dove under the table just as two bullets came through the skylight, splintering the glass, followed by Brock jumping down through the remains of the skylight to land on the table.

Thinking quickly, Evan rolled himself over on his back, braced his hands over his head, pulled his knees up to his shoulders to align his feet flat with the table, and pushed upward.

The table, with Brock aboard for the ride, flew back up through the skylight and landed on the roof with a satisfying smash of wood.

How the hell was he _that_ strong? Nobody should be able to do that!

Without wasting any more thought time on it, he bolted for the front door and got ready to slam into it with his shoulder braced. Expecting to bounce off the door and need to hit it at least once or twice more to get it to give, his face lit up in complete surprise as his first hit launched the door off of its hinges with him on top.

Both he and the door landed on a set of stairs leading two levels down and and slid until it caught on the last step and launched him off. Ducking into a roll, he managed to get back to his feet and continue running through the neighborhood.

Glancing around as he ran he saw that he was still about six levels up from the ground level and the small canals that ran between the buildings.

It was as he rounded the next corner that he was clotheslined by a Legionnaire mech and landed flat on his back.  Vaulting back up the Legionnaire leveled its Vector SMG at his face and Evan managed to slap the barrel up before it pulled the trigger, avoiding hitting any of the civilians that were milling through the area as they all screamed and ran for whatever cover they could find.

Gripping the top of the weapon, Evan palm-heel struck the mech’s chest plate with his other hand and pulled. The weapon managed to fly out of the Legionnaire’s grip but the mech itself was only pushed back a step and a half.  The mech then attempted to bring its weapon arm down in a strike on his neck but Evan caught it. Then, grabbing the top of the mech’s chest plate just under the neck while planting his heel in its waist, he pulled and kicked out.

With a loud snap and a blue fizzle, the mech flew backwards leaving the chestplate, along with the mech’s arc reactor, gripped in his right hand.

What in the ever loving hell?  These are held on by tungsten bolts. _No one_ should be able to do that save for another mech!

The Legionnaire collapsed into a heap on the walkway and Evan tossed the chest plate and reactor over the side, towards the water below, as he resumed running.

* * *

It took him nearly fifteen minutes of running before Evan felt that he had managed to shake his pursuit.

He leaned slightly against a holo-advertisement as he caught his breath.  Another odd thing seemed to be that he wasn’t nearly as winded as he thought he should be right now.

As he began to calm himself to plan out his next move, his left hand lit up from the inside.

Glancing down, it looked like he had lit buttons under the skin of his hand that made up a dial pad along with several other buttons commonly found on telecommunication devices.

You have got to be kidding.  He literally has a phone under the skin in his hand.

Recovering from his momentary surprise, he presses the green phone button and holds his left hand up to his ear.

“Hello?”

“Well, haven’t you been busy lately?” The voice on the other end was female but had a youthful teasing sound to it.

“What?”

“I think you should really re-think your vacation options next time you want to take leave.”

“The hell?”

“Look, put your hand up to a piece of glass.”

Evan looked over towards the holo-ad next to him, and placed his left palm on the surface. As he did, the ad minimized itself to the corner of the screen and the image of a video appeared next to his thumb that took up the ad’s former space.  In the video was a woman. She had long brown hair pulled back into a ponytail and was wearing what looked like an all black uniform of some kind.  The image wasn’t quite clear enough to make out her eye color or what type of room she was in.

“Well, you certainly look like shit.”

“People keep saying that.” Seriously, he gets it. He looks like shit. “Who are you?”

“A friend.”

“A friend? That’s it?”

“Pretty much.” Now she was smirking at him. “Look, you told me that you suspected something like what’s happening right now would happen, so you left me a message to pass on to you.”

“I did what?”

“You basically asked me to be your temporary answering machine. You know? ‘Beep, leave a message after the tone’ kind of thing?”

Evan could only raise an eyebrow at that. Did he seriously draw all the snark out of people or something?

“Here, it’s a text message along with one phrase. ‘Find the key.’”

“Key? What key?”

“Yeah, you didn’t tell me that. Thought you would know.”

“I don’t have any keys.”

“Well hey, we need to cut this short, it’s probably how they’re tracking you.”

“This phone in my hand?”

“Yeah, so if I were you, I’d get rid of it.”

“What? How do I get rid of it? It’s in my goddamned hand?!”

“I’m sure you’ll figure it out. Remember, read the text and then find the key.”

And with that her video image blanked out.

“No, no wait. Wait damn it.” Evan slapped his palm on the glass but the call had ended.

A second later a text message notification appeared on the glass in front of him. As the message popped up it only had two short lines of text on it:

 

_First National Bank, Branch 7_

_Box 914070_

 

He repeated the text message back to himself under his breath several times before the message blanked out and the phone shut off. The holo-ad returned to its original size and resumed playing.

How the hell is he supposed to get a surgically implanted phone out of his hand?  This had just gone from bat-shit crazy to totally insane.

He walked over to a set of stairs where there were several teens sitting along the edges smoking and chatting to themselves. He noticed that there was a small holo-ad screen only a few inches across on one wall and figured that would make do.

Punching the screen, the glass shattered and fell to the ground. Evan sat on the stairs and picked up a piece that looked to be the right size for what he needed.  He barely registered that the teens sitting near him had stopped chatting and were now staring directly at him.

Pressing the edge of the glass to the base of his left palm, he pressed it down into the skin and cut about a two inch line across it.

Dropping the glass shard and ignoring the bleeding, Evan pushed his index and middle finger under the skin of his palm and poked around for the phone’s interface. As he made contact with it, it began flashing on and off as he jostled the edge, Getting a good grip on the bottom portion, he slowly began pulling the interface out through the incision he just made.

The teens around him were now openly gawking at him. They were watching some random dude in an alley literally pull a phone out of the palm of his hand.

Having extracted the offending device, he finally looked up to register his audience.

One of the kids finally spoke up. “Holy shit. What is that and where can I get one?”

Evan glanced at the kid and saw that he was wearing a full length insulated jacket with a thick hood. That would certainly solve some problems.

“How about I give it to you for free in exchange for your jacket and a piece of the bottom of your shirt?”

“Shit yeah, you can have it man!”

The kid shrugged off the jacket,  handing it over, and proceeded to rip a strip of fabric off the bottom of his shirt, exchanging it with Evan’s hand-phone.

“Thanks dude!”

“Yeah. Sure thing.”

Evan put the jacket on over his shirt and used the strip of fabric to wrap up his hand and stop the bleeding from where he’d cut into it. Throwing the hood over his head and wrapping the jacket tightly around him, he started off back in the direction he’d come from.

A couple blocks down the walkway, he passed Brock along with two black Legionnaire mechs and several SHIELD Strike agents. The other man never even took notice of the shadowy figure wrapped in a hooded full length jacket with a slip of t-shirt wrapped around his left palm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those of you familiar with the MCU and the people who work for SHIELD, you should recognize brunet ponytail girl that knows everything. :)


	5. "I'm Not Ready to Trust You Yet"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brock deals with (fuels...) the issues in his own head while dealing with Evan's and finally finds out who he really is, Evan meets himself in message form and learns more but definitely not enough and Tony and Pepper have to deal with some fall out. Also, things go boom!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and feedback on this silly little fic are more than welcome people. Let me know what you really think! And if it sucks, then just say so. I'm a big boy so you won't hurt my feeling(s?). :P

 

* * *

 

Brock still couldn’t believe what had happened to him in that crap little family’s apartment while he was pursuing Evan all over the damned district.

He had been bodily launched, along with a sixty pound wooden table, clear out of the room and up onto the roof.  Who the hell can do shit like that anyway?

The crazy thing about the whole situation though… he wanted the man to do it to him again.  He wanted this nameless nobody who’d been _his_ (fake) husband for the past year to throw him through a skylight again. Then he wanted the guy to climb up there after him and ravage him on the roof until he got another load out of him.

When the fuck in the past year had this guy become his damned on-switch? He was royally fucked. Scratch that, he wanted the guy to royally fuck him until he passed out. Shit on a goddamn popsicle stick.

After he’d landed on the roof, it had taken him enough time to catch his breath from the impact that there was no way he was catching up to Evan on foot now. Luckily, one of his Strike men had reported the reactivation of his phone and they were tracking his movements that way.

He’d made his way down to ground level after that and met up with one of the teams.  He was still shirtless and wearing only the EMT pants from the apartment and a pair of boots that he’d slipped on but he couldn’t care less. He grabbed an extra body armor vest from a SHIELD patrol car along with several fresh magazines for his pistol and then took off again.

He caught up with the lead patrol as they were heading into one of the little run down shopping bazaars.  One of the agents let him know that they were coming up on the current active location for Evan’s phone.

Upon arriving at the scene, he saw one of their Legionnaire mechs holding what looked like a hand phone, sans the hand it’s supposed to be in, and blocking in a group of scared looking teens on a set of alleyway stairs.

One of the teens was talking to the mech.  “Hey, Robo-dick, that's mine!”

An agent walked up to Brock after leaving the mech with the teen. “He cut it out of his hand.  Rüdiger must've known we'd be tracking it.”

Well great, that was perfect.  “How the hell would he have known that?”

That’s when Brock’s own hand-phone lit up in his palm with an incoming call. He looked down at his hand and saw the priority level and the caller ID.  “Oh, shit.”  This was going from bad to worse and fast.

Brock walked over to the SHIELD patrol car that was parked nearby and placed his hand on the glass window.

The face that appeared once the call was connected was none other than Chancellor Alexander Pierce. And boy did he look pissed.

“He made you look like a fool.”

Yeah, no shit Sherlock. Not Brock’s fault though. “He'd had major tactical training, sir.  I wasn't made aware of that.”

“How the hell did he get activated?”

“An agent-in-place told me he'd gone to Rekall.  I sent a team in, but his memory implant had been blown before they could get to him.” Blown implant was an understatement. Evan had also managed to take out an entire STRIKE team and walked away barely sweaty for all his effort.

Brock started again. “He's clearly regaining some memory fragments. We were about 10 minutes behind him but we’ve lost our only means to directly track his movements.”

The Chancellor continued, unfazed. “No lethal force. I want him alive, do you understand?”

Why the hell was this Evan so damned important? “Who the hell is this guy, sir?”

“Take me off the display.”

Brock removed his hand from the glass and walked a few steps away from the other Strike members behind him, holding his hand up to his ear. “Line is secure.”

And the Chancellor proceeded to explain exactly who it was that Brock was chasing down and why.

Goddamnit, now it all made some crazy sort of sense. “Are you fucking kidding me, sir? Why is he still alive?”

He vaguely registers something about needing something specific and a mission that places the entire future of the UFB in jeopardy.

“Yes, sir. I understand,” Fuck, now he has to send a team off for another strike back in the UFB just to cut off one of this guy’s life lines:  Tony fucking Stark. Go fucking figure.

Once the line disconnects, Brock lowers his hands to his sides, balling them both into fists and squeezing his eyes shut.  The only thing he can actually think about clearly right now is the hot load of jizz he still has in his ass and the fact that that’s really the only thing he even gives a shit about right now.

You know what? Chancellor’s reasons and plans and missions be damned. Fine. Brock would bring this guy back in, but he sure as hell wasn’t doing it for the Chancellor, he was doing it because _he_ wanted this guy, and bad.

First things first though, cut off his means of getting help. Then, track his tight ass down and sit him in a chair to be wiped again. And after that, fuck.

Taking a deep breath, he walks back over to where the other agents are standing.  “I need Strike Alpha A-S-A-P for a Romeo Protocol mission back home. Get them on the horn while I take care of this shit and I’ll brief them on their target.”

Stepping back towards where the Legion mech was holding the kids, the same teen from before that had the phone was still mouthing off.  “Will you lay off, asshole?” Then he sees Brock walk up.  “I keep telling these guys, that’s my phone. The guy gave it to me, I swear.”

Phone, schmone. He needed the man behind the phone. “Where was he going?”

“Who?”

“The man that gave it to you, you little shit.”

“Dude, do I look like a psychic? How the hell do I know? All I'm saying is that phone is my personal property now, okay? I know my rights, so you all can just…”

This wasn’t going anywhere fast, so Brock throat punched the kid and shoved him back on the stairs.  “When you've got your breath back, you're going to tell me everything that man said to you, starting from the beginning. Got it?”

The kid gasped several times before finally croaking out a hoarse, “who...are...you...man?”

Brock plastered on his biggest and most venomous shit-eating grin. “I'm his _husband_.”

 

* * *

 

Evan purposefully made his way along the streets of undertown Sydney, stopping only twice to check the holo-directories and make sure he was going in the right direction.

After about 25 minutes of walking, he reached his destination:  The seventh branch of the First National Bank.

Stepping inside he could see that it was as innocuous a location as any other bank in any other city. Plain decor, the usual average, everyday clientele. Realizing that he didn’t stand out in any way, he walked up to one of the open tellers.

“Can I help you, sir?”

“Yeah, I have a safety-deposit box here. 9-1-4-0-7-0.”.

“Okay. Can you just look right here please?” The teller gestured toward a retinal scanner.

“Yeah, sure.” Evan stooped forward and looked into the mild blue light. Once it has read his retina, it automatically pulled up his account information and box verification for the teller.

“Alright sir. This way, please.” The teller motioned him to follow towards the adjoining room.

Once inside, the teller indicated the location of the boxes on the wall and the private review rooms next to them. “Just use your thumb print to open your box and you can use any one of these client rooms. I'll just be outside, if you need me.”

“Thanks.”

After the teller had left, Evan walked over to the wall, quickly scanning for his box until he found it, pressing his thumb into the reader on the front. The light on the front flashed from red to green and the front of the box popped open to allow him to remove it from the wall. Grabbing the handle, he removed it and walked back to one of the rooms, closing the door behind him.

Setting the box down on the table, he took a seat in the chain and lifted the top open.

Inside he found an identity mesh (the top-of-the-line type SHIELD developed), what looked to be about 100,000 UFB credits in cash, and passports for eight or nine different individuals which he assumed were all fake identities.

Pocketing the mesh, cash, and passports, he started feeling around the edges of the box for any kind of hidden compartments or buttons. That’s the kind of thing a secret agent would do, right?

Noticing that the pad just inside where the lid latched looked a lot the thumb print reader from the wall outside, he pressed his thumb down on it. There was a small beep and a holo-screen appeared inside the lid and began playing a video message.

As it started, Evan could see a room that looked a lot like a hospital room, complete with cabinets of medicine, a surgical bed of some kind, and all sorts of monitors. Then a face appeared from off screen. _His own_ face.

Holy shit, he’d recorded this himself and he had no idea. This just reached a whole new level of crazy.

_“They're gonna be coming for me any second, so I need to make this quick.  Okay, you're going to find this hard to believe but you're not the person you think you are now. If you're watching this, then it means I failed to escape. It means…” he seemed rushed and out of breath, “it means they succeeded in giving you a new name, a new identity and a new set of memories… everything.”_

So what Brock had said before was actually true. He wasn’t Evan, he was someone else entirely. The video continued. _“Anything you think you know about your life, it's not real. You have to believe me.”_

The other ‘him’ looked away from the screen for a moment and Evan could hear some kind of movement in the background.   _“The most important thing for you to do now, is get to the apartment! Fielding Terrace, Uxbridge Road, Block D, Apartment 1724.”_

There was the distinct sound of people trying to break down a door. _“I want to tell you more, but I can't trust you yet. My only hope is, if you_ are _me, then you know what to do.”_

Then the sound of a window being shattered and the door being broken down. The other ‘him’ panicked.   _“One last thing! Find Bucky. Bucky is the key!”_

And with that there were SHIELD agents wrestling ‘him’ away from the screen as it went blank, changing to a message in text reading _‘Message Erased.’_

Goddamnit. Who or what was a Bucky?  And this Bucky is the key? What kind of key? Shit.

Evan closed the lid of the box and let out the breath he just realized he’d been holding in.  He couldn’t do anything about this Bucky if he didn’t know what they/it looked like or where they/it was located, but he could get to this apartment and see if there were any more clues there.

First things first, he’d need some new clothes. Then it was looking like he was going to have to head up to the UFB and do some apartment hunting.

 

* * *

 

Tony Stark puttered around in his basement (could it really be considered a basement if it still had windows?) laboratory, tweaking parts and pieces of his latest brainchild:  the lovingly dubbed EXO Frame.

Okay fine, so the name probably needed some work but the functionality was what really mattered.  Essentially, the EXO functioned as an external skeleton frame to be worn by a person, ostensibly in the military or police, that could augment normal human strength and abilities such as running, jumping, punching, kicking, et cetera.

What Tony was actually working on now was fine tuning of a full boot and glove addition to his personal prototype EXO.  He had also been working on giving the various portions autonomous flight capability, so that it could be stored and accessed remotely by the wearer or transferred to another wearer nearby. Yes, he’d come up with some exceptionally remarkable technology before, but as of right now this one was going to take the cake.

He’d already tested the auto-reactive barrier system, essentially a restricted area shielding system that reacted to incoming fire just before the point of impact.  He had yet to develop an algorithm that could run these functions independently but that’s also what he had JARVIS for. The AI may mostly perform analytical functions for Stark Industries, in addition to being both Tony and Pepper’s personal office assistant, but he was also in possession of more than enough processing power to run ten of these EXO’s simultaneously without even breaking an electronic sweat.

It was around 6.45 pm, just approaching the start of dusk for this time of year, as he was packing up his work and collapsing all of the components down into their pre-arranged sections.

_“Sir, Ms. Potts has returned home for the evening.”_

“Thanks J. Headed up to meet her now. Mind finishing the calibrations on the components for me? Might need them sooner than expected.”

_“Of course, sir. It would be my pleasure.”_

Tony left his lab and bounded up the spiral stairs to the main level of the house. His ‘estate,’ as many would call it, was large, open and located on the Bristol coastline without any other buildings stacked on top of it (come on, having billions upon billions in the bank allowed you to violate a couple zoning laws for the sake of a good view and no skyscrapers hovering over you, right?) and a completely clear view of Bristol Bay.

As Tony reached the top of the stairs he saw Pepper walking through the glass doors from the driveway.

“Hey baby. No problems with the commute home I take it?” Tony wrapped an arm around her waist and planted a chaste kiss on her cheek, pulling her attention, albeit temporarily, away from the StarkPad in her hands.

“No, Tony, Smooth ride as always.” She said looking back toward the pad in her hands. “I thought you weren’t going to be back until later?”

That’s one of the things Tony loved about Pepper, she always noticed _everything_. Her attention to detail was actually one of her sexiest qualities. “Yeah, decided to come home early. Get some work done. So, I was thinking...”

“Uh oh,” she mocked playfully. “We both know what happens when you think Tony…”

“Yes, yes, I know. Things usually end up blowing up. But, I swear, nothing’s exploded in like, the past 72 hours or so. So, I’m good for now.” Where was he going with this? “Oh yeah, anyway. We should take a trip somewhere. Somewhere that is specifically _not_ here. What do you say?”

She let out an exasperated sigh as she sat down on the couch in the living room. “Tony, you know we can’t just take off right now. We have the new product line launch in one week, shareholder reports come out in three days, and there’s an advisory board meeting on Friday. We can’t just jet off like that.”

He plopped down next to her and grabbed both of her hands, holding them in his. “Sure we can Pep. We have minions that can see to all of those things. I’ll just have JARVIS take over the whole company temporarily, everything will be jake. No worries.”

Pepper rolled her eyes dramatically at that one.

“JARVIS, you can take care of things at Stark Industries for a while, right? Make sure the place doesn’t burn down or anything like that?”

_“Certainly, sir. However, I will need you to change my name from JARVIS to SKYNET and transfer control of the UFB’s nuclear launch codes to me beforehand.”_

“J, it will _always_ be too soon for SKYNET jokes. Seriously. What have I taught you?”

_“Nothing if not an appreciation for the most inappropriate things in life, sir.”_

“Okay J? You are now officially fired.”

_“In the strictest sense of the word, I believe you would have to actually hire me_ before _you can fire me, sir.”_

With Tony’s eyes now rolling, he turned back to Pepper. “So, what do you say? You and me. Little time on the Italian Riviera, or maybe hop down to Sicily, get some real pizza and not the gruel that passes for Italian food here on the island?”

She was going to have to put her foot down on this one. “Tony, No! We can’t go running off and that’s final. Besides, what about that little side project? That’s supposed to be coming to a head any time now right?”

“Yeah, about that…”

_“Pardon me, sir. But the estate’s proximity sensors have just been tripped. We have unidentified aircraft incoming from the bay.”_

And this is exactly what he feared would happen.

“What kind of aircraft? Give me a read here.”

_“Three civilian model helicopters, heavily modified. They’re carrying Resistance markings but don’t match any known Resistance craft on record.”_

“Yup, that’s because there’s no such thing as the Resistance. It’s Pierce’s lackeys.” Tony turned to Pepper and pulled her up from the couch. “Okay honey bun, we need to go. Now. J, how’s the EXO coming?”

_“Initial calibration is complete however…”_

“Okay J, skip the spinning rims. We’re on the clock here.”

_“Sir, incoming fire.”_

Tony and Pepper both looked towards the windows overlooking the bay and saw the rocket screaming towards the house.  Without even a second though, Tony dove over Pepper, knocking her to the ground as it impacted the windows and detonated, sending glass and concrete dust throughout the room.

He looked down to see Pepper’s terrified expression beneath him but seeing that she was okay he looked up again. “J. EXO. Stat!”

_“Right away sir.”_

Another rocket flew in from one of the other aircraft as they approached and surrounded the large house, its detonation sending even more debris flying and causing cracks to form in the concrete of the ceiling.

It was then that there were armor pieces vaulting through the room. Tony quickly stood over Pepper and reached forward. Piece by piece each component latched onto him and connected to the others, forming all the parts of the EXO, which, of course, Tony had painted in bright red and gold trim.

More cracks formed in the ceiling above them, pouring concrete dust down. Tony crouched down over Pepper again just in time to deflect a large chunk as it dislodged from above.

“Okay sweetheart, I think it’s time we got you out of here okay?”

Pepper didn’t answer and only emphatically nodded her head ‘yes.’ Tony could tell she was on the verge of crying and just wanted to get her out of the house and to safety.

Helping her up, he tried his best to guide her towards the front door and outside despite the debris still raining down around them. As they got closer to the door, another exploding rocket knocked them apart.

A few seconds later when the impact haze in the back of his head cleared, Tony sat up from where he’d been laid out on the floor but couldn’t see Pepper anywhere.

“JARVIS, where’s Pepper?!”

_“Ms. Potts is clear of the structure, sir.”_

Okay then, now that she’s taken care of it’s time to see what this baby can do.

“What do I have to work with here JARVIS?”

_“Sir, that EXO hasn’t been tested for full combat effectiv…”_

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Options here J.”

_“Might I suggest ‘going with it,’ sir?”_

“Hrm, not a bad idea. Is the sub-level on lockdown.”

_“Yes sir, as requested.”_

“Good, let’s ride this one out then.”

Tony dove for cover behind one of the pillars supporting the outer portion of the house to block the fire coming in from the helicopters outside.

“J, blow the second and third support pillars when their next shot hits the house.”

_“Understood, sir.”_

It was less than a second later that another rocket came streaking towards the house and impacted on the lower level. At the same time, JARVIS detonated pre-set charges designed to drop the outer portion of the house in case Tony ever needed to trash the place.  He hadn’t actually thought he’d ever use them but hey, today was a day for new and exciting things, right?

With two of the three support pillars to the outside section of the house gone, it couldn’t hold its own weight up above the 15-foot cliff face below. With several loud cracks and a bunch more shattering glass, half of the house broke away from the rest and plunged towards the water below.

_“You’re going to want to hold your breath, sir.”_

“Thanks J. Kinda got that part already.”

Tony inhaled deeply and crossed his arms over his chest just a split second before the outer portion of the house, along with him, hit the freezing cold water.

JARVIS was now speaking directly into his earpiece and had modulated himself for submerged audio distortion. _“Opening sub-level doors now, sir.”_

Tony saw the slight light appear underwater in the cliff face below and thought ‘how nice of JARVIS.’ But yeah, this was all a bit much at the moment. Right now he was just hoping that he could make it.

Meanwhile, all Pepper could do was look on from her half laid out position on the driveway as the house she shared with her fiance, Tony Stark, plunged over the side of the cliff with him still inside it.  “Tooonnnnnnyyyyyyy!...”

She sat there on the ground, completely stunned even as SHIELD patrol cars began to pull up onto the estate, agents rushing around to try and secure the scene.  Pepper barely even registered when one of them escorted her to a waiting ambulance to check her over before being taken to the local hospital.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes I totally ripped the idea for the EXO from Call of Duty: Advanced Warfare but I didn’t think the Iron Man armor would fit the story as no one here is an actual superhero.
> 
> Also, yes ‘Evan’ has enhanced strength and reaction times, but it’s only about 2-2.5x that of a normal person. So yeah, not technically superhero levels there either. Just think of him as having the strength of a powerlifter and speed/coordination of a gymnast. I don’t really know how else to put it lol.
> 
> Safe Deposit Box 914070: Reverse the numbers and you get 070419, which breaks down to 07/04/19 or July 4th, 2119, which is a certain someone's birthday in this story. Clever huh? :P


	6. Of Maglev-cycles and Trafficways

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Evan embarks on his apartment shopping, someone new gets involved, the "bridge scene" gets a role reversal, there's car chases on suspended highways, and two character reveals for the price of one (le gasp!).

 

* * *

After purchasing clothing and getting himself up to speed on how to operate the identity mesh he’d recovered from the bank, Evan managed to get changed into different clothes and set himself up as one of the fake identities he had a passport for.  Figuring that the more different from himself the better, he went with the identity of an older gentleman of Asian-Pacific descent. His new clothes consisted of a comfortable pair of ‘faded’ khakis, relaxed athletic shoes that were comfortable and good for running in, a plain light blue shirt, dark blue medium-weight windbreaker and an asiatic-styled full length overcoat.

He planned to ditch the overcoat at the first opportunity and change identities again once he got to the UFB so as to keep SHIELD guessing in case they did end up on his trail again.

Getting through security in The Colony and onto The Fall was a cakewalk, considering that Colony Police weren’t really inclined to assist SHIELD when it came to enforcing UFB law outside normal jurisdictions. He’d purchased his seat on a direct-exit level so that he wouldn’t have to ride any elevators in the terminal on the UFB side to get out of the building and onto the street proper. It was getting through security on the UFB side that was going to be the interesting part.

 

* * *

He’d just about had it.

Fury had sidelined him a week ago, giving him orders to ‘shelter in place’ in one of Tony Stark’s sublet tenements in London because he was ‘too close to the case.’ Whatever the hell that was supposed to mean.

This was _his_ case and _his_ case alone.  He literally had the biggest stake in this whole ordeal; saving the world be damned.  All he wanted was to get _him_ back.

And every time he got close, every time he located another clue or a lead, it had been snatched away or covered up or just plain disappeared.

A whole year now, he’d been losing his mind over the prospects of what had happened to _him_ . Then suddenly, everyone is moving around him but not letting him in on any information, any of the things in the case that could get _him_ back.

He lashed out and put his fist through the drywall next to the bathroom mirror. Okay shit. Now he owed Tony for a hole in the wall of one of his lavish apartments. Whatever, he didn’t care anymore.

Leaving the bathroom and walking out to the kitchen, he grabbed a protein shake from the fridge and plopped down on one of the kitchen counter stools to look out the large windows towards The Fall.  All he could think of every day was ‘where could _he_ be?’

Screw his life to hell. Just screw it _all_ to hell.

_“Excuse me Agent, but I think I may have some information of interest to you.”_

Wow, JARVIS never sent him alerts. If he was getting an alert now then he guessed it must be something halfway newsworthy.  Either that or Tony wasn’t holding out on him like he thought he was.

“What is it JARVIS?”

_“I’ve just received a delayed trip identity report from The Colony. It appears a listed fake identity that Mr. Stark added to my filters was utilized a short while ago for passage on The Fall.”_

Wait, was it one of _his_ identities? Could it actually be _him_?

“Do we know which one and when it’s supposed to arrive here?”

 _“Yes, Agent.”_ A holo-image appeared over the countertop displaying the passport ID information. _“Given current approximate wait times through customs entry, the person utilizing the identity in question should be departing The Fall in 12 minutes, give or take.”_

Shit, The Fall was at least a 15-minute drive away, and that’s with no traffic.  Well, no time like the present to break every speeding law in the UFB. But, you know what? _He’s_ more than worth it.

“Thanks JARVIS.  What’s available for me to use in the garage?”

_“Actually, STARK9 has already been prepped for this specific purpose.”_

“Wait, it has?”

_“Indeed. Bulletproofed, turbo-boosted, and fully charged, sir.”_

“Then, let’s get this damn thing going!”

Grabbing his jacket off the back of the living room couch, he bolted out the door and straight into the waiting elevator, JARVIS having already set it up to take him to the garage level.

With any luck he would get there just in time to save _his_ ass for once. And if not; well he just wasn’t going to think about that right now.  This was a no-fail mission and it was his mission alone.

 

* * *

Evan tried to calm his nerves as his turn came up to step through customs before entering fully into the UFB. That’s when he noticed the new security scanners they had installed. They were making each person step up to and stand in the scanner for readings before moving up to get their passports stamped.

He had a really bad feeling about this.

The customs officer motioned him forward and he stepped into the scanner.  The scanner beeped softly once. “Okay, go ahead sir.”

Damn, bullet dodged..

Then from behind him. “Sir, I'm gonna have to ask you to step through the scanner again, please.”

And there went the other shoe. Crap.

Evan stepped back into the scanner, fingers crossed in a silent prayer, hoping to all hope that his identity mesh would hold up.

The customs officer started in on the usual round of questions. “How long is your stay here?”

“Two weeks,” came his slightly hoarse response.

“Are you a citizen of The Colony?”

“Yes.”

“What is your business in the U.F.B.?”

“Seeing family.”

“And… wait a second.” That’s when Evan notices that his nano-mesh is flickering. It must be interacting with the scanner. Well here goes nothing…

One of the customs officers points and yells. “That's him! Freeze!”

He snaps into motion.

Evan grabs the customs officer’s collar and pulls him face-first into the side of the scanner, knocking him unconscious instantly. Taking two steps forward he grabs the nearest armed SHIELD agent by the front of his black body armor and plants his other fist firmly in the bridge of the man’s nose. The man goes slack in his grip allowing him to grab the pistol out of his hand as he rushes into the now hysterical crowd of passengers trying make it to the doors.

He shrugs off his over coat. It’s only going to slow him down now anyway and pulls the malfunctioning nano-mesh off of his face and discards both to the floor in the crowd.

Two gunshots are heard behind him and the people in the crowd start screaming.

“Everybody down!” Officers are yelling from behind.

Evan  notices that the only path clear of people is along the windows, but it’s blocked by a glass panel with holo-ads.  He’s really not catching a break with these things any time soon, is he?

He levels the pistol towards the glass and fires off two shots, shattering the glass though it remains in place. Taking one large leap, he smashes through the glass to land in a roll on the other side and he’s once again up and making a break for the doors to the outside.

The terminal is now a cacophony of voices. SHIELD agents and security personnel shouting orders and directing scared passengers.

“Eastside exit!” “Go, go, go!” “We have a visual!”

Hearing the alerts blaring throughout the terminal, Brock stands from the desk where he’s been biding his time.  After losing Evan in The Colony and making sure Strike Alpha was off on their mission to Bristol, he’d returned on The Fall in anticipation of Evan trying to make his way back into the UFB.  Guess his intuition in this instance has paid off.

Exiting the office, he’s now dressed in more traditional SHIELD gear. Black t-shirt under his body armor, black fatigue pants with his holster and pistol and black combat boots. He pulls on his ball cap and jogs over to the customs entry area.

“Coming through!” Fucktards need to stay the fuck out of his way. He’s got a _man_ to find.

One of the SHIELD agents walks up to him to report. “We've alerted all units outside.”

“Yeah? And how the hell did he get a weapon past the scanners?”

“He didn't. Sir.”

Now Brock sees the SHIELD agent by the counter holding his hand over his broken and bloody nose. “Perfect.”

“Sir, he’s making his way toward the trafficway.”

“Get me a patrol unit, NOW!” Brock is going to get _his_ damn man and these sorry excuses for agents had better stay the fuck out of his way.

 

* * *

Evan is dodging people left and right as fast as he can. He knows he’s got armed SHIELD agents on his tail coming out of the terminal so he doesn’t need to chance a look back.

Seeing a trafficway lift off towards his left, he makes a snap decision. Probably best to get some transportation if he’s going to be making his way through London to this apartment that he’s supposed to reach.

Pushing past the few people remaining between himself and the lift, Evan jumps up on the next passing vehicle as it ascends to the highway above. The startled driver is now issuing a long litany of expletives directed at him, but that’s whatever.

When the vehicle reaches the highway, the lift system nudges it towards the traffic lanes and as the vehicle’s maglev system catches the magnetic rails below it, he loses his grip and slides off the car and onto the highway along with dropping his pistol.

He sees the pistol a few feet away and lunges for it. Managing to get his hand around the grip, he has to fight the pistol as it tries to jerk towards the vehicle that passes overhead, the maglev field snagging it as it passes. Somehow, he manages to keep hold of the weapon and once the vehicle passes, stuffs it into the back waistband of his jeans.

Evan curses to himself. That was friggin close. Losing your weapon is not the best way to start a day, Evan.

That’s when he sees an approaching maglev-cycle. Something in his brain clicks and he sees what he needs to do before he’s even doing it.

Timing it right to startle the driver, Evan jumps up with just enough distance between them to force the driver to apply the brakes. Then, as the driver swerves to avoid Evan, he reaches out with both hands, one grabbing the handlebars and the other planting firmly in the man’s chest, pushing him off the back of the cycle.

Using the momentum of the cycle, he pivots the back maglev unit around and vaults up to land unceremoniously on the seat and revs the handles to get the cycle back facing the right direction.

Before taking off, Evan reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out taped wad of cash, probably in the range of about 20,000 credits, and tosses it at the former rider who’s now lying dazed on the pavement. “Sorry about that!”

And with that he’s gunning the accelerator and taking off down the highway.

 

* * *

STARK9 is flying down Interstate-19 at dangerously fast speeds, and he doesn’t particularly give a shit.  He’s on a mission and _he’s_ his mission.

As he’s rounding the last highway bend to where it cuts in front of The Fall he sees something that, well he doesn’t really know how to describe it.  There’s a man on the highway (stupid, right?) but he jumps up in front of a passing maglev-cycle only to, in a single fluid motion, strip the rider off of the cycle and flip the cycle a complete 360 while mounting it while it’s still in motion.

There is literally only ONE person he knows that’s skilled enough, and _crazy_ enough, to pull off a stunt like that.

It has to be _him_.

 

* * *

Evan is roaring down the highway, attempting to put some distance between himself and The Fall so he can start his search in earnest, when he sees a SHIELD Quinjet pacing him along the side of the highway.

Why did it have to be a damn Quinjet?  He’s never going to catch a break at this rate.

He watches as the Quinjet accelerates ahead of him about 800 yards before it pivots 180 degrees to end up in a hover over the highway, gatling gun deployed from the aircraft’s nose. From over the jet’s PA system:   _“SHIELD. Stand down, now!”_

Well shit. Just as he was starting to like his ride too.

This was going to be another feat of timing but he already has the distance and speed planned out. Since when had he figured out how to do that anyway?

Slowing slightly as he approaches the right distance he bolts into motion. Keeping a tight grip on the handles, he hops up, planting his feet on the seat then pushes again, launching himself forward over the handles. Halfway over the bars, he guns just the rear maglev unit for extra push. Completing his vault, he plants his feet on the pavement below and proceeds to flip and then release the cycle into the air over him. He’s now left landed in a crouch on the highway with the maglev-cycle hurtling towards the Quinjet, end over end.

One last thing.

He pulls the his stolen pistol out of his pants and levels it at the appropriate point, waits half a second, and pulls the trigger twice.

The two bullets fly forward, meeting the cycle as it starts the downward half of its trajectory. The first bullet passes through the cycle’s power regulator, shredding it, and the second one passes through the fuel cell.

The cycle blossoms into a yellow and black cloud of flames and debris which impacts the Quinjet’s left lift fan, shearing off most of the blades and part of the wing.

With now only one fan on one side, the Quinjet spins out of control and off of its position over the highway.

The pilot performs a valiant effort of trying to save his plane and manages to steer it back towards the highway, now behind Evan’s position, where it crashes and skids to a halt in traffic while narrowly missing a swerving candy apple red McLaren sports coupe.

 

* * *

Okay, now he’s straight up done for. Two cycle tricks in one day? This has to be _him_.

Narrowly missing the out of control Quinjet as it crashes to the highway, he taps the brakes and swings the steering wheel around to stop the car in front of this guy, then keys the opposite side’s door open.

And there he is, _his_ guy. _His best guy_. But the only thing he can manage to say to him is “Steve?”

The man crouching on the highway knits his brow in confusion. “Who the hell is Steve?!”

 

* * *

Wait. It’s hot-hair, hot-eyes, hot-ass guy from his dream. What the hell!

Hot guy looks dejected that he apparently doesn’t know this Steve person. Wait. Is Evan supposed to be Steve?!

He’s momentarily caught by a flash of pain in the back of his head, but it clears as quickly as it came. Once again he’s looking up at hot-ass dream guy, who’s apparently regained his composure.

“Get in! Now!”

And with that, ~~St~~ Evan is up and in the car, quickly closing the door behind him as they take off down the highway.  He glances in the rearview long enough to see that SHIELD patrol cars, lights flashing, are rounding the bend in the highway behind them, hot on their tail.

But he’s here. Dream guy is here. “I can't believe it's you.”

Hot-ass guy replies. “You recognise me?”

“Yes. No? I don't know.” God, that pain in the back of his head is back again. “Do you know who I am?”

“I should hope so. We’ve known each other since we were ten.” Hot-ass guy seems dumbfounded. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you since you disappeared when SHIELD was split. Then today I’m getting alerts from The Colony and here in the UFB about a fugitive and you’re at the center of it all.”

It’s then that the nearest SHIELD patrol car slams into the back of their vehicle.

 ~~St~~ Evan chances a look through the back window and immediately recognizes the driver of the car. “Oh, shit. It’s Brock.”

Now it’s hot-ass guy’s turn to look confused. “Who?”

“My husband.”

“Your _what_ ?!” Okay what the FUCK did they do to _his_ guy?  Someone is going to eat lead for this one. And you know what? It may as well be this Brock dude they ‘married’ _his_ guy off to.

“I think it’s safe to say we’re going through a rough patch.”

 ~~St~~ Evan doesn’t want to talk about Brock though. All he can think of right now is hot-ass dream guy.

Chancing another look back, ~~St~~ Evan can now see Brock holding a pistol out the side of the patrol car as he fires off several shots, one taking the side view mirror clean off the car. “Okay, a _really_ rough patch.”

Two of the other tailing patrol cars accelerate and pull up to the sides, only to slam into them.

“Shit, they’re boxing us in. Here, you drive.” Hot-ass dream guy taps a control on the steering wheel and it smoothly glides across the dashboard until it’s sitting in front of StEvan. He then proceeds to pull a pistol out of the back of his pants, rolls down the window, and takes aim at the car next to them.

 ~~St~~ Evan grabs the wheel to keep them steady and watches to see what hot-ass dream guy does. He only has to wait a second before a shot fires off and disables one of the patrol car’s rear maglev units. Then he suddenly knows exactly what to do.

Gunning the accelerator for a split second, he then shifts the control stick to neutral and taps the wheel to the right, starting a controlled power glide that has them still traveling in the same direction but twisting to the side.

Hot-ass dream guy levels his pistol at the patrol car’s front maglev unit on the same side, and fires.

With both units on the one side no longer working, the car side plants on the highway and begins tumbling out of control. As it tumbles, it takes out two more patrol cars and causes the other cars behind them to slow down to avoid an accident. Well all but one.

 ~~St~~ Evan rights the car and throws it back into gear while taking another quick look back, only to see Brock’s car vault over the disabled vehicle like a ramp to continue pursuing them.

Then suddenly, their car is talking to them.

_“Good afternoon, sirs. I feel it necessary to inform you that SHIELD has begun setting up vehicle barricades at intervals along your current route.”_

So yeah, ~~St~~ Evan was not expecting that, but apparently hot-ass dream guy is unfazed by it.  “Any chance we can avoid them?”

_“Unfortunately, avoiding the barricades would put you on a route back towards The Fall, only slightly delaying your capture by SHIELD.”_

Wait, if this car (or whatever/whoever is talking to them) knows _that_ information then it must have access to the full traffic control system, right? ~~St~~ Evan can use that. “Um, hey, car? Which barricade is furthest east along this route but uses a sublevel that’s clear all the way to the ground?”  Always best to be specific when making a plan.

_“There is a barricade being made in sector 217 along Sublevel 3. The appropriate exit will be approaching on your right in 15 seconds.”_

~~St~~ Evan saw the exit sign for Sublevel 3 and gunned it forward before doing a quick-brake into the vehicle lift. The lift’s maglev systems took hold and they began descending towards the ground.

Hot-ass dream guy nodded out the window. “We’ve got Quinjets headed for the barricade.”

 ~~St~~ Evan looked out the window and saw two SHIELD Quinjets descending down towards where the barricade would be.

_“Am I to understand that you’ll be performing a slingshot release of this vehicle?”_

A what? Um, yeah, guess that’s what he’d call it. How would the car know that though?

“Yes, I think so. How did you know?” ~~St~~ Evan looked over towards hot-ass dream guy, who just made an ‘I don’t know’ face in return.

_“The records of your career that I was provided with indicate that this is not the first time you have attempted, or performed, such a maneuver.”_

“Oh, okay…”

_“I should also inform you that you’ll need to disable this vehicle’s maglev suspension safety unit. It is located behind the touch screen panel in the dashboard.”_

“Um, thanks.”

Once again, hot-ass dream guy looked confused and just shrugged.

Oh what the hell. ~~St~~ Evan punched the touchscreen, breaking it into five large pieces. Pulling them out, he could see the glowing maglev suspension control unit so he grabbed it and yanked it out of the socket.

_“Very good, sir. Maglev suspension is now on manual control.”_

“Is this car turbo-boosted?”

_“Indeed it is, sir.”_

~~St~~ Evan looked over at hot-ass dream guy. “You’re going to need your seatbelt for this.”

 

* * *

Okay, so he knew that he was running for his life from SHIELD and he was totally beside himself considering that he had Steve (kinda/sorta) back with him, but why the hell hadn’t he heard about these crazy vehicle stunts of his before?

Sure, Steve had been on missions for SHIELD either solo or with other agents, and he didn’t always get to see the after action reports, but Steve would have said something about doing crap like that, right?

Maybe his Steve had some of his own secrets too.

As their car reached Sublevel 3, the maglev tracks now overhead, he remembered what Steve had just said.  Reaching for his seatbelt, he felt the vehicle start to accelerate abnormally fast. So fast, he was thrown into the back of his seat.

He looked over at Steve but the man was maintaining absolute concentration on the highway ahead of them as he accelerated, knuckles going nearly white on the steering wheel.

Quickly buckling the restraints over his waist and chest, he noticed that Steve still wasn’t wearing his own belts.

With the barricade of a dozen patrol cars along with the two Quinjets from earlier rapidly approaching, he literally ran out of time to say anything to him about it.

Steve turned towards him. “You ready?”

“What?”

And with that, Steve yanked back on the maglev controls and they dropped from the trafficway, entering free fall while still moving forward at nearly 300 kph.

Well, if one James Buchanan Barnes was going to die in this car today, at least he’d die with Steve at his side. There’s no other way he’d rather go than together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, if you hadn’t figured out who hot-ass dream guy was before now, well now you know. :)
> 
> Comments are critiques are always appreciated. Let me know what works and what doesn't or if anything in the story doesn't make sense.


	7. Rekalled in Totality

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brock deals with Evan's/Steve's escape and Evan/Steve manages to come to terms with why Bucky is his key and pieces start to come back to him...

 

* * *

 

Brock is practically seething.  He couldn't remember a time in his life when he'd run as purely hot as he did now.  Not only was he dealing with the fallout of the utter incompetence of the customs officers and SHIELD flunkies working at The Fall, but they'd also managed to let Evan slip through their fingers and into the UFB without even so much as slowing him down.

Following Evan's escape from the Terminal, he'd had to go chasing after the man, commandeering a SHIELD patrol car from the terminal security garage along with a Legionnaire mech riding shotgun, only to make it to the trafficway outside of The Fall with exactly enough time to _not_ grab his man.

And you know what, Evan _was_ his man.  Brock didn't give two shits what anyone else said on the matter.  He'd make Evan _his_ again.

But now he had to remind himself what Chancellor Pierce had revealed to him during their phone conversation after Evan's escape from The Colony.  Evan really wasn't 'Evan.'  Evan was goddamn _Captain Steven_ fucking _Rogers_.

This man, the same quiet, contemplative, caring, humble, intelligent, and downright sappy man had turned out to be the _single_ most badass motherfucker in the goddamn history of SHIELD.  And you know what, Brock was _pissed_ about it.

As he had sat in that stupid office in The Fall, waiting for word of _his_ man's entry into the UFB, Brock had come to a revelation.  It wasn't Evan (correction, Steven) that he was pissed at.  He was pissed at _Pierce_.

He was angry that Pierce had had the pure gall to turn the strongest, hardest, most alpha man in the history of men into a meek shell of his former self that spent more time worrying about whether his life was going to fall apart around him than actually trying to live it.

Okay sure, Brock knew that the man he'd been set up with as his 'fake' husband was hot as hell and built like a fucking block wall, but without that pure alpha-typical masculinity, the whole package just didn't do it for him like it should.  So of course when he got the call from his agent-in-place reporting that ~~Evan~~ Steve had entered Rekall, followed by him killing a room full of armed agents and then blowing the crap out of the joint, Brock had suddenly found that the fire that was missing from their 'fake' marriage had been instantly, and violently, lit.

Then, as soon as he'd seen the man walk in the front door, it had taken all of a minute for his own composure to break down and he'd jumped ~~Evan's~~ Steve's bones with pure and righteous fury.  And goddamn if that wasn’t one of the simplest but _best_ fucks of his life.

The afterglow of that single event had long since faded though, leaving what felt like a gaping absence in himself.  And now, it's that absence that has completely taken him over and is driving him forward.

So as the patrol car he was driving had come upon another damned example of ~~Evan's~~ Steve's pure and unadulterated badassery (I mean seriously, the man vaulted over a maglev-cycle, threw it, shot it, and wrecked a damned Quinjet in the process), he had to watch from just far enough away to feel totally powerless about it as a red McLaren pulled up to _his_ man and took off with him.  Not only that, but he could just barely make out the face of the man already in the car and FUCK, now he had goddamn fucking competition.

Then after that, they were off to the races, flying down Interstate-19 and still, Brock couldn't catch a break.  He'd tried to ram the back of their escape car (okay fine, so he did that more just because he was angry) but that hadn't done anything.  He'd tried to shoot out the maglev units but it turned out that the damn thing was bullet proof (goddamn Tony Stark).  Then he'd barked orders at the other units to box them in, only to be stuck looking on as ~~Evan~~ Steve slow drifted their car while the pretty looking bad-boy type in the passenger seat shot out one of the flanking patrol cars and caused two more cars to wreck out.

After that little stunt, Brock was seeing red.  He'd floored the accelerator and used the overturned car in front of him like a ramp, jumping it to avoid the other damaged cars.  There was no way he was letting ~~Evan~~ Steve get away now.

He focused on ~~Evan~~ Steve and pretty looking bad-boy’s car as he watched it slide into the vehicle lift to head down to Sublevel 3. Good, that would take them right into one of the barricades that were being set up and he could finally get his man back.

Feeling a surge of adrenaline as he exited the lift behind ~~Evan's~~ Steve’s car, he was left dumbfounded as he watched it take off like a bullet through the light traffic. What the hell?!  Go figure Stark would turbo-charge his cars but shit!  Brock knew that SHIELD patrol cars had a turbo also but none of them were anywhere near what Stark was notorious for putting in his vehicles.

Fuck it. He gunned his turbo anyway and just hoped he could catch up to them before whatever stunt ~~Evan~~ Steve decided to pull next. And not but a few seconds after that he got to see exactly what that stunt was.

As the red McLaren hurled faster and faster towards the barricade, it suddenly powered down all of its maglev systems and dropped from the trafficway hurtling down into the sprawling city hundreds of feet below.

“Shit!” Brock had to shut down the turbo and apply his emergency brake just to prevent his car from slamming front-first into the two hovering SHIELD Quinjets ahead of him.

Watching the red car with _his_ ~~Evan~~ Steve in it descending out of sight, he furiously slammed his fist into the top of the steering wheel over and over again. “Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck FUCK!”

In a fit of rage he reached down and un-holstered his pistol, punched it out to the side with the barrel against the head of the Legionnaire mech next to him, and proceeded to empty the entire 16-round magazine into its skull.

“Fuck!” This had _not_ been his day.

 

* * *

 

So his whole plan of slingshotting their car off of the trafficway to get past the barricade had seemed like a decent idea at the time, until about two seconds into their little free-fall jaunt back down towards planet Earth.

Hot-ass dream guy was bracing himself against the roof and the center console with his eyes squeezed shut. and a look that resembled something akin to ‘I hope I don’t die’ plastered on his face.

Mind in the game ~~St~~ Evan, this has to be timed perfectly.

Carefully focusing on the rapidly approaching ground, ~~St~~ Evan throttles the maglev to full at just the right moment to cushion their impact with the street below. Sure, the car still impacts the ground, but it’s more of a scrape than a slam if he’s honest.

After that though, he doesn’t really have much control.

Without maglev guide rails like the trafficways above have, the street below offers no purchase whatsoever for the car to push or pull against aside from the metal bodies of the cars lining the street on either side. ~~St~~ Evan taps the wheel to the left so as to start scraping the cars next to them for traction.

It sort of works as planned. More like the McLaren decides to grab a car smaller than it in its forward maglev field and drag it along with it, shredding the tires down to the rims on the pavement before both cars slam into another parked car, finally coming to a halt.

 ~~St~~ Evan sits back in his seat, dazed. They made it down in. what would appear to be, one piece.

He notices now that his head is throbbing as he looks down at the steering wheel, seeing that the outer edge is bent from where his head likely made contact with it on impact. There is also the faint feeling of warm blood trickling down from his hairline, but he can’t focus on that right now.

Looking to his right ~~St~~ Evan can see hot-ass dream guy is slack and unconscious in the passenger seat and has a trail of blood running down the right side of his face. Shit, that landing was a lot more rough than he’d intended.

Managing to shove his door open, ~~St~~ Evan steps out of the car to see civilians starting to meander into the area, looking for the source of the commotion that was their abrupt arrival into the neighborhood. He needs to get them out of here before too many more people arrive and start asking questions.

Moving around to the other side of the car, he pops the door open and releases the seat belt. Sliding his arms underneath hot-ass dream guy, he lifts him from the car and carries him away between two nearby buildings.

Taking a second to glance back at the nearest street sign, ~~St~~ Evan confirms that he’s taking them in the right direction.

 

* * *

 

Ducking between buildings carrying a full grown man isn’t the easiest of tasks but ~~St~~ Evan manages to get them both to their destination without further incident.

Finding a rear entrance to the building, he gets himself and hot-ass dream guy into a maintenance elevator and heads up to the 17th floor and on towards Apartment 1724.

Arriving in front of the door, dream guy still in his arms, he sees that the door lock is thumb print activated.  Shifting his human load slightly, he frees his right hand and depresses his thumb to the door, unlocking it.

From there he carries dream guy to the couch and lays him down gently. Bandages, he needs to find bandages and a first aid kit.

Stepping back to close the door, ~~St~~ Evan moves off to what looks like a bathroom to hopefully find what what he needs. Looking under the sink he finds a brand new first aid kit and brings it back to his companion on the couch.

It takes him a few minutes to clean and bandage both of their wounds and by the time he’s done that, ~~St~~ Evan realizes that he’s completely exhausted and slides down the side of the couch to sit on the floor.

Once he’s managed to take a few breaths and get his wits about him, he begins looking around the apartment. It’s fairly decent sized and big enough to more than suit the needs of any couple living together or even a typical nuclear family with a mom a dad and two kids.

The dining room and kitchen are off to one side with a large bay window that looks out over the neighborhood.  Further along down the line of windows is a large easel and another couch. Looking back towards where he and dream guy are resting he takes note of a third couch, the coffee table, fireplace and a large blank area of wall where he assumes a holo-TV is projected.

All-in-all, it’s a really nice home.

 _Home_ . The thought of that word makes his head hurt again. He’s got a sharp pain that radiates from the back of his head and into his eyes. _Home_. Damn, that word really makes his head hurt.

Whose _home_ is this though? Goddamn headache. Is this the _home_ of this Steve guy? Damn it to hell, this headache is getting worse. Wait, is this _his_ _home_?

 ~~St~~ Evan doubles over, grabbing his head in both hands as he feels blood start to slowly seep out of his nose. Less than a heartbeat later, his brain becomes a cacophony of fire and lightning all at one time.

A flash.

There’s a school yard, grade school kids, one, a bully, takes a swing at you. You go down, get back up, you can do this all day, you swing back, you miss. Then there’s another kid, he swings, he connects and the bully runs off. This other kid, it’s dream guy, but younger, a lot younger, and he smiles.

Another flash.

There’s an alley, between buildings, by a movie theater, it’s late, there’s hardly any traffic, there’s a face in front of you, it’s dream guy again. He’s smiling, but it’s different. His eyes are glassy, he looks hesitant, but you smile back, then you’re kissing.

Another flash.

There’s a balcony that overlooks a school campus, an academy, military of some kind, cadets running a track. You’re happy, you’ve graduated, and dream guy is there next to you. He’s smiling again, he’s holding something in his hand but you can’t see what it is. He grabs one of your hands, he gets down on a knee, he opens his hand and there’s something metal inside. It’s silver and round, a ring, he’s smiling, you’re smiling. You say “yes.”

Another flash.

You’re in tactical gear, standing outside a building, inside are bad guys, smugglers. They’re trafficking in persons, sex trade, you’re there to rescue them, take out the bad guys. You bust in, you fire, you’re dropping bad guys, there’s a streak of red, a red haired woman. She’s working with you, you’re taking them out together, she takes the targets you don’t, you take the targets she can’t. Then you’re done, bad guys finished, she smiles at you. She says “not bad.”

Another flash.

You’re on a motorcycle, you have to escape, your cover’s been made. You’re in a parking garage, you’re heading up to the top level, have to get in the clear. There’s cars behind you, tires squealing, you reach the top level, you see the edge. You gun the engine, you’re timing it, you reach the edge and brake. You use the bike to launch yourself, there’s an aircraft in front of you, back door down, you tuck and roll, you land inside. You stand, the pilot turns. Messy brown hair and blue eyes, goofy smile. He says “show off.”

Another flash.

There are names and faces: female, straight red hair, jade eyes, constant teasing, like a little sister, Natasha. Male, brown hair, goofy grin, takes nothing seriously, pilot, Clint. Male, thinning hair, history nut, likes big guns, really shy around you, Phil. Female, straight brown hair, ponytail, hyper-organized, knows almost everything, Maria.

There’s more names, more faces, more people, more places, more times, more pains, more laughs, more jokes, more silence, more noise, then it’s just one more.

That face. It’s his, he has stubble, strong jaw, stormy eyes. His smirk says ‘love,’ his smile says ‘devotion,’his  tears say ‘dedication,’ his laugh says ‘joy.’his  hands say ‘strength,’ his arms  say ‘forever,’ and his name  will always be with you. He’s _your Bucky_ and you’re _his Steve_.

The final flash hits ~~Ev~~ Steve like an arrow between the eyes, forcing out a pained gasp, and he collapses on the floor as the world goes black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So if it hits in a flashback and it’s all in pieces, can it still count as being fluffy? I’ll let you guys decide.
> 
> Oh yeah, Brock is a sick, sick puppy. Is there a reason why Brock rhymes with cock? :P
> 
> But yeah, Bucky and Steve have a near life-long history together in this and it's super sweet and they're both SHIELD Agent badasses together and all that jazz. :)
> 
> The slashed-through sections of name or partial names show how that character perceives the memory changes of the main character or their relationship to/with them. In another chapter that will clear up as the memory alteration clears up too. Sorry if it's a bit confusing or distracting, but it's just a POV and state-of-mind illustration tool.


	8. Riding the Guilt Train

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve’s guilt hits him like a frozen, speeding train and Bucky has to stop him from falling into the black hole of misery that’s trying to rip him away. (In the great words of Drax: “Metaphor!”). There is also some fluff and more smut followed by somebody getting shot! (Oh noez!)

 

* * *

 

Steve slowly cracks his eyes open, blinking the haze from them as he peels himself off of the hardwood floor.  As his vision clears, he can see that there is still sunlight peering through the blinds over the bay windows, so he can't have been out very long.

Extricating himself from his crumpled position, he takes note of the trail of small blood drops that must have fallen from his nose in his fit of memory recall.  He'd been hit, all at once, by the memories of his life; his real life.  The life that he'd built and shared with...

Bucky...

Turning to look behind him, Steve could see that Bucky was still lying on the couch, chest quietly rising and falling as he slept.

This was his Bucky and he was his Steve.

Closing his eyes, Steve took stock of what he could remember.  The planted memories of his life with Brock were gone, but the things that had actually happened, the life he had been living with the man for the better part of a year in The Colony, those were still there.

Sure, he'd been captured by SHIELD, Pierce’s SHIELD, been wiped and had his memories chemically altered, and if he was honest with himself, Brock had just been doing his job as far as he knew, but none of that mattered to him.  Wiped memories or not, he had betrayed Bucky.

He'd betrayed the man that he'd actually been married to since they graduated from the SHIELD Academy.  He'd betrayed a lifetime worth of trust that they'd built from the time they were 10 year old kids.  He'd betrayed the one person he had vowed that he would never betray until death do they part.

He'd betrayed the man that was his life and it hit him right in the gut.

Tears welled in his eyes at the thought of what Bucky would do now.  He'd probably break it off with him, leave him, and never want to speak with him again.

And, you know what?  He couldn't really blame him for that.  Once all this crap with SHIELD and Pierce and this mission were over, he'd let Bucky do as he saw fit.

Realizing that he should probably change out of his sweat-through and bloodied clothes, he got up and walked off in the direction of the bedroom to see what he could find.

The apartment hadn't been lived in for a long time, Steve guessed, considering that everything was covered in a very sparse layer of dust.  The air filtering system usually eliminated most dust in modern homes but there was enough here to show the apartment's lack of habitation.

Opening the closet, he saw a stack of dark blue athletic shirts, complete with his own personal white stenciling, above a shelf of various jeans and khakis.  Closer to the floor was a shelf with black and white socks of varying lengths and then several pairs of running shoes and combat boots.

Grabbing one of the shirts. a pair of jeans, boxers, and socks he makes his way to the bathroom to take a shower.

He starts the water up before removing his soiled clothes and stepping into the stream, not bothering to wait for it to warm up.

As the water courses down the back of his neck and over his body, he can feel the tears start to slip from his eyes.  After all the good he had tried to do in his life, after all the hard work to balance his and Bucky's careers with their lives together, after trying his absolute hardest to be the best possible man for his best guy, he'd still failed.  He’d failed to be vigilant enough, he failed to notice the signs of Pierce's treachery in time, and he failed in his obligation to protect innocent people.  But worst of all, he'd been captured by Pierce's people, let them wipe his life away and replace it with a fake one, and through all of that, he'd failed Bucky.  He'd failed the best thing in his life.

Steve wasn't sure how long he stood under the water crying his eyes out, but he eventually got around to washing himself off before shutting off the water and stepping out to dry off.

Pulling on the clean boxers and jeans, he stands in front of the bathroom mirror and tries to assess himself.  Problem is, he doesn't know if he even recognizes his own reflection anymore.  For the first time in his life he feels empty.  There's a pit forming in his heart and in his stomach, and it's starting to consume him from the inside.

Bracing his hands on the front of the counter, he hangs his head and the tears start flowing again.

He can't do this; he can't do this to Bucky.  He's weak and a failure and he doesn't deserve...

Steve hears a slight shuffling behind him before an ever familiar voice is speaking to him.

"Hey."

Steve turns around to see Bucky, bandage still on his forehead, leaning against the door frame.  Now, seeing his face and those storm-filled blue-gray eyes, the tears come even faster.  He has to do what's best for Bucky.  He's failed and now he's going to have to pay the price for it.

"Buck," he croaks out. "I..."

"Don't, Steve.  Just don't."  The words are firm but still gentle.  Steve doesn't know what Bucky means though.

"I _know_ you, Steve.  I know what you're thinking.  Just, don't."  Bucky is pleading, and he can see that he's also on the verge of tears himself.

"Buck, I'm so sorry," Steve manages to get out between sobs.  "I'm not..."

"No, Steve.  None of what happened is your fault."  Bucky is just barely managing to keep it together, but he's not going to lose Steve to this shit or any other shit, ever.  To the end of the line, dammit.  "I don't give a shit about any of it.  That wasn't you.  Not the real you.  What that other you did is nothing you could have helped and you don't get to blame yourself for it.  That's not the 'you' that's standing in front of me right now, Steve."

Why can't Bucky just see that he's betrayed him?  He doesn't deserve to be forgiven.  He doesn't deserve to have this betrayal wiped away or forgotten about.  "A whole year, Buck.  A whole year I was living down there and I was doing... doing things... that I swore on my life would only ever do with you and I... I couldn't... I can't..."

"Stop. Now."  Bucky's words are strong and commanding but not harsh in any way.  He closes the short distance between himself and Steve, wrapping his arms around his narrow waist and pulling him close.  "What you couldn't do is help what those people put you through.  What you can't do is change any of it or blame yourself.  But, what you _can_ do, is fight what they did to you and, you can make up for lost time."

Steve can't bring himself to hug Bucky back, leaving his arms just hanging at his side.  He can't wrap his mind around how Bucky can just let this all go.  "How, Buck?  How can you just forgive me?"

Looking up towards Steve's face, Bucky places a hand gently on his cheek, wiping the tears away with his thumb.  "I can't forgive you, Steve.  I can't forgive you because there's nothing for me to forgive."

Steve's entire expression begins to fall apart, an entirely new wave of sorrow about to erupt but Bucky knows how to stop it.  Moving his hand to the back of Steve's neck he says, "Hey... I love you" and kisses him.

That's when Steve realizes that this is it.  This is the kiss from his dream.  This is that very same kiss that broke him down and built him up, the one that lit him on fire and froze him where he stood.

It's this kiss that has never changed since the first time.  Since that very first one in an alley next to a movie theater in London when Bucky told Steve how he felt and Steve had just smiled and said, "Same here."

And it's been every kiss since then.  Every time Steve's lips meet Bucky's, it pulls at all his heartstrings.  It's an experience and every time it happens, Steve never wants it to end.

When Bucky does finally pull back, Steve wraps his arms around his shoulders and buries his face in Bucky's neck.  "I'm so sorry Buck.  I love you too."

And in that moment, Bucky knows that he has _his_ Steve back.

 

* * *

 

Once Steve has calmed down, Bucky hands him his shirt and walks him back out toward the rest of the apartment.  After three months of Steve being gone Bucky couldn't stand returning to the apartment alone so he'd cleaned the place, thrown all the food out, stocked the fridge with non-perishables in case of an emergency, and left.

When he and Steve had first moved in, they convinced Fury to keep the residence out of all records, including changing the public listings for the unit, then bought another small studio unit closer to SHIELD headquarters that they listed as their 'home.'

They had stayed at the studio periodically to maintain the ruse that they lived there and had routed all of their calls and contact accounts there as well, to maintain the illusion, but in truth, this place was always their true home.

Sitting Steve down at the kitchen counter, Bucky went to the fridge and grabbed them a couple protein bars and canned energy drinks.  They didn't really make up for having real food, but you couldn't afford to be picky when on the run.

Between bites of his protein bar, Steve finally speaks up.  "You know we can't stay here very long."

"Yeah.  Even though this place isn't listed as ours they'll eventually catch up to us.  I'd say we have less than 48 hours before that happens so we should take off from here in the morning."

"Sure Buck.  In the morning."

Steve finished his bar and drink and put the wrapper and empty can on the counter.  He stood up from his stool, but suddenly didn't know where to go.  Scratch that, he knew exactly where he wanted to go but he wouldn't go there unless Bucky wanted him to.

Bucky looks over at him.  "Hey, punk.  You know you can come over here."

“ Sorry Buck, I just…”

“Come here babe.”

With that, Steve walks over to Bucky and puts his arms around him again.  He never wants the hug to end; he wants to feel Bucky against him like this forever.  It’s only several moments later that he realizes he has tears silently running down his cheeks again.

Bucky pulls back from him a bit and gives him a knowing smile.  “Geez, you always were such a sap Rogers.  Never could keep it together around me.”

“You jerk!” Steve says playfully as the words bring a smile to his face.  He’d literally forgotten what is was like to take the brunt of one James Barnes’ sarcastic but good natured humor. But now, he could remember it all. “You were in my dreams Buck.  I just… I didn’t know it was you at the time.”

“So back when we were kids and I told you that you couldn’t get rid of me that easy, I guess it turns out I was right after all.” Bucky states matter-of-factly.

“You really are a jerk, you know that?” There’s no bite to Steve’s words though.

Bucky moves back forward and nuzzles his face into the crook of Steve’s neck, smelling the man he’s had to live without for the better part of a year.  “You have no idea how much I’ve missed you. Every day.”

When Steve sighs into him, Bucky takes the opportunity to run his hands up the sides of Steve’s arms, appreciating the strength in them.  “You got bigger, huh?”

Steve starts to go red at the question/compliment. “Um, been going to the gym six days a week for the past year, so yeah, I guess so.”

“You only ever did mission training before though.”

“I guess when they concocted my new memories they had to find a way to keep me fit or have my fitness make sense so they must have made that part of the whole deal.” Steve shrugs like it’s the easiest explanation in the world. “I did like going though.”

“Well I really like how it looks on you.”

“Yeah Buck, ya think so?”

“Yeah, I do.” Bucky moves his hands down and then slides them up under the hem of Steve’s shirt, brushing his fingers over the hard bumps of his abs and obliques under the thin fabric.  “I've missed this. Let me see babe.”

Steve reaches down to remove his shirt, pulling it over his head and tossing it lightly on the counter, letting Bucky get his hands on him in earnest.

“You know Buck, getting reacquainted goes both ways…” he says with one eyebrow raised.

“Hop to it then, soldier.”

“Keep feeling me up babe. I’ll get it off ya in a second.” Steve’s voice is low and strong, sending a warm current through Bucky’s body at the sound.

“All your muscle feels so hard Steve. I mean you were _hot_ before, but now you’re just… _wow_.”

“You like that huh?” he asks as Bucky slowly nods ‘yes.’ “Well how do you like this?”

And as he finishes asking the question, Steve fists his hands in the collar of Bucky’s shirt and starts to simply rip it right down the front of his body, exposing more and more of his clean skin to the open air.

Bucky’s face goes flush, redness spreading over his cheeks, ears, and down his neck.  “God Steve, that is so hot.”

“You’re hot Buck. You know you are.”  Steve says as he drops the now open-fronted shirt on the ground.

Thier lips meet in a fiery clash as their hands grope and squeeze over each other, their bare chests pressed up against each other.

Steve runs his fingers over the scar on Bucky’s left shoulder.  It was obtained on a mission to root out a smuggling cartel up in the mountains of Northern Europe when he’d taken fire from an opposing sniper. It was only a graze, but it was still rather deep. Since it was on that mission that Bucky had ‘earned his shirt’ with SHIELD, he’d decided to get the scar tattooed over with his emblem as soon as it was healed.  While the scar was still visible close up, it was now covered in a tattoo of a red star situated over two concentric circles of faded white.

As they come up for air between impassioned kisses, Bucky finally says “Too much clothing, Rogers.”

“Guess I should do something about that then, huh?”

Steve dives back in to kiss Bucky as he uses his hands to undo his jeans and then push them and his boxers down to his ankles before kicking them off.

Breaking contact once again, Bucky takes in Steve’s full glory as he’s standing in front of him in nothing but his socks. “God Steve, fuck me!  You look amazing!”

“Voyeur.” Steve reaches forward and hooks a finger in the waistband of Bucky’s pants, pulling him back against his chest. Leaning down to his ear, he whispers “Want me to rip these off ya too?”

“Hate to ruin a good pair of pants.” Bucky replies as his works them off of himself, kicking them to the side once they’re free of his hips.

And with that, it’s just the two of them. Nothing standing between them but their own arousal and need for each other.

Bucky leans up, pressing his cheek to Steve’s. “I want you to show me just how strong you are Stevie.”

“Then c’mere babe.” Steve grabs Bucky around the hips and hoists him up.

Bucky wraps his legs around Steve’s own tight waistline and presses their lips together, slipping his tongue into Steve’s mouth, exploring and pushing deeper while he’s held suspended in the air.

Steve then takes several steps through the room and gently presses Bucky against the large support pillar between the dining room and living room areas.

Bucky already seems to know what is is Steve wants to do in order to show off to him. “Oh God, Steve, you gonna?”

“Yeah Buck, I’m gonna.”

“Fuck, please babe. I've needed you so bad. I just wanted you back...”

Steve’s already been leaking pre-cum for the past minute or two, the flow intensifying over time until it’s a steady dribble. Wrapping his left arm around Bucky’s waist to support him against the pillar, he uses his right hand to wipe up some of the pre from his cock and then spreads it over Bucky’s muscular pucker.

“Ungh, Steve, please” Bucky pleads as Steve teases his entrance with pre-cum slicked fingers.  “You have no idea how much I missed ya.”

“Then show me babe.”

Steve slowly pushes a finger into him and is rewarded with a low moan in return.  Backing his finger out, he pushes in again and pulls another lower and louder moan from Bucky’s lips.  He continues his ministrations like this until he eventually works a second and third finger inside. He’s playing Bucky like a fiddle and every touch to a string is one step closer to setting him off.

“Steve, please Steve, more. Need you so bad, babe.”

Not needing any further encouragement, Steve removes his fingers from Bucky, getting a displeased grunt in response.  “Just a sec Buck, you’re doing so good for me.”  Reaching down, he uses his fingers to work his stream of pre over the head and shaft of his cock, position it at Bucky’s clenching hole.  “You ready for me babe?”

“Yes, please, Steve. Need you inside me.”

Steve then lets Bucky’s weight settle down just slightly and is rewarded with the feeling of being engulfed in tight flesh.

Bucky’s arms go tight around Steve’s neck as he’s breached, trying hard to force himself down faster but Steve holds him in place. Keeping the push of Bucky’s body steady, Steve takes several more seconds to bottom out fully inside of him.  Then, as he feels himself reach full immersion, he places his right arm back around Bucky’s waist and lifts him away from the pillar.

“Oh God Stevie, fuck, fuck, so strong.”

Flexing his arms, Steve gently lifts and lowers Bucky, moving him along the length of his manhood while revelling in the sensations he feels as the tight muscles clench around him.  “Oh Buck, you feel so good. I got you babe, gonna make you never want to leave my arms.”

“Never babe, never. Hold me. Ugh, God, I love you Stevie.”

“I love you too Buck.”

Bucky doesn’t even need to hold on at this point as Steve is now supporting his full weight.  Amazingly, Steve doesn’t even feel tired as he holds up Bucky’s own 210+ lbs of muscle, beginning to quicken the pace at which he’s impaling the love of his life on his ample dick.

“Steve, you got me so close.”

“C’mon Buck, cum for me babe.”  Steve pants, feeling the friction of Bucky’s cock moving between the cleft of his own pecs. He flexes his chest, pulling a gasp from his partner.

“I’m gonna cum Steve, go..nna cum…” Only a second later Bucky is shooting ropes of white hotness all over Steve’s chest while muttering his name under his breath like a prayer. _Steve, Steve, Steve, Steve_.

Feeling Bucky clench down with his orgasm, he reaches the crest of his own building tension and squeezes down on Bucky’s back as he unloads shot after powerful shot of cum inside.

Even after they’ve both finished, Steve continues to hold Bucky up, their foreheads pressed together as they bask in one another’s afterglow.

It’s Bucky who finally speaks up. “Goddamn, Steve. You held me up the whole damn time.”

“I’m still holdin’ ya up Buck. I can do this all day for you.”

“Yes please. But, we should clean up. You’re covered in my jizz.” Bucky points out.

“Maybe I like bein’ covered in your jizz. I don’t mind.”  There’s a playful smirk plastered on Steve’s face as he answers.

Bucky just chuckles as Steve slowly lets him down until his feet touch the ground.  “How was that for strong?”

“Damn Steve, that was amazing. I mean it’s always amazing but that was _especially_ amazing.”

“I aim to please.” Steve lewdly winks.

Bucky gives him a swift punch on the shoulder.  “Shower time, punk!”

“Jerk!”

 

* * *

 

Steve and Bucky clean each other off in the shower, with perhaps a bit more playing around and heated making out than is strictly necessary to accomplish their goal, before drying off and dressing in some relaxed bed clothes they get from the bedroom closet.

Bucky watches Steve’s back move, all solid muscle and sinew, as he pulls on a pair of sweats and just relaxes while taking it in.  It’s like he’s seeing Steve in a whole new light after having him forcefully ripped away.  The old saying ‘absence makes the heart grow fonder’ seems a bit cliche at the moment, but that doesn’t make it any less true.

His Steve is amazing, pure and simple.  Plus, this time around, he’s going to make sure that he keeps him around for good.  No more government conspiracies or underhanded plots or crazy elected officials are going to pull them apart from now on.

As Steve turns around he shoots Bucky a questioning look.  “See something you like Buck?”

“Just ‘mirin the view.”  Bucky’s expression goes serious though.  “We should jet out of here at first light.  SHIELD will be on our tail sooner rather than later.”

“Yeah, I know.  We need some rest first though.  C’mere.”

Steve reaches over and grabs Bucky by the hand to leads him to the bed.  Once they’re at the bedside, he flips the comforter off and upturns the pillows before setting himself down and giving Bucky a slight tug.  “Let me hold you?”

“Any time Stevie.”

Bucky slides into the bed easily, pressing his back up against Steve’s chest.  No sooner than his head hits the pillow then one of Steve’s massive arms is wrapped around him, pulling him closer.

“I know I’ve already said it Buck, but I’m sorry.”

Bucky sighs slightly.  “I know you are Steve, but you don’t have to be.  Just promise me you’ll always hold me?”

“Yeah, Buck. I promise.”

They’re both exhausted from the day’s activities and can feel sleep tugging at them moments later. Despite this, they both know that they aren’t going to sleep soundly with the knowledge that Pierce has SHIELD scouring the whole of London for them.

 

* * *

 

The two of them manage a couple hours of undisturbed rest, after which they’re basically just dozing while keeping their senses open and aware.

Bucky is the first out of bed at 0500 as he makes his way to the closet to change into more appropriate ‘fugitive’ gear.

Steve really just wishes that he and Bucky could have their ‘old’ lives back, but reality is a cruel mistress and he’s resigned to her fate.

Pulling himself off the bed he stands and makes his way over to the closet as Bucky is coming out.  He’s dressed in one of his brown ‘earned’ shirts, the broken rings of white forming his logo on his left pectoral, along with a pair of black relaxed fit jeans and black athletic boots.  He’s carrying one of his unmarked breaker jackets to throw over the whole thing along with one of his favorite 90Two pistols from the gun safe.

He’s literally the picture of the perfect man in Steve’s eyes:  strong build, piercing eyes, devilishly handsome, and well armed.  Top that all off with fierce loyalty, total dedication, and a mind as sharp as a tac and you have the all-encompassing totality of James Buchanan Barnes.  Steve’s in love all over again.

Seeing the way Steve is looking at him as he finishes dressing, Bucky quirks a fond smile at him.  “I know that look.”

“Just remembering again why I love you so much.”

Bucky laughs. “You are the sappiest sap this side of Sapville, Rogers.”

“I know. Still love you though.”

“Love you too, punk, now get dressed. We gotta run.”

“Jerk. Grab me some protein?”

“Yeah, be in the kitchen.”

As Bucky leaves the bedroom, Steve makes his way into the closet.  He grabs another one of his own ‘earned’ shirts with his logo, the white star with three white tabs off to each side, with his own jeans, boots and jacket.

Looking into the gun safe in the back of the room, he sees the gun he hasn’t held since before this whole conspiracy/thing started over a year ago: Peggy.

Peggy is a .45 caliber pistol that Bucky gave him as a graduation/engagement gift when they’d completed their term at the SHIELD Academy.  It’s satin black, smooth finish, and still impeccably clean, just the way he’d always kept it after a mission.  Along the side of the barrel was inscribed, in cursive, the name ‘Peggy.’

Steve never really knew why he named the pistol Peggy, but he just chocked it up to the idea that maybe if he’d been into girls, then he’d want to be with a Peggy.  No matter though, Peggy was his lady and she’d never failed him before.

Tucking the pistol fondly into his back waistband, he shrugged the jacket on and went out to the kitchen.

Bucky was already there, munching away on a protein bar and downing an energy drink with Steve’s own ready for him on the counter.  Once they were both done, they discarded their trash and walked to the door together.

Steve spoke up.  “So what’s our plan?”

“I had an extraction point set up just in case I ever found you and Fury should have someone there to get us out. It’s just a matter of getting there without tipping off SHIELD in the process.”

“Guess it’s going to be a run most of the way there then.”  Steve gave a wry smile.

“Yeah, guess it is. Til the end of the line pal.”

“Til the end of the line.”

They rode the elevator down to the lobby level in silence, calming themselves for the coming escape.

However, as they exited the elevator doors and crossed in front of the reception desk, three bright floodlights flashed on outside the huge lobby windows and there were armored SHIELD agents coming in from the side doors.

Steve and Bucky both instinctively grabbed their pistols and brought them up to the ready, facing towards the floodlights.  What they didn’t expect was the figure slowly walking towards them in the lobby.

A look of disbelief crossed Steve’s face momentarily. “Sam?!”

“Hey buddy.”

“You know this guy?” Bucky asked, still keeping his pistol pointed at the newcomer.

“Yeah, he was my friend back in The Colony. Worked at Stark Industries together.” He turns back toward Sam “What the hell are you doing here Sam? You with SHIELD now? They’re the bad guys!”

“Hey man, all they did was ask me to come here to talk you two down.  Apparently you’ve caused enough of a scene for the Chancellor to get his panties all up in a twist.”

Steve sees movement over Sam’s shoulder and recognizes a face immediately.  “Shit! Brock is here?!”

Brock is standing outside looking like a murderous rubber band that’s about to snap.  This definitely wouldn’t have been his idea and had probably had his hands forced by Pierce to try and bring Steve in.

Steve doesn’t even want to know what Brock is thinking right now and besides, he needs to concentrate on the situation in front of him. He and Bucky are going to have to find a way out of this one and _fast_.

“Look dude, they wanted me to ask you to stand down quietly and not cause any more ‘incidents’ as they put it.” Sam continues.

“That was all SHIELD, they can’t be trusted.” That had come from Bucky.

“I get it guys, okay, I do. But the way I see it, someone’s going to have to go down…”  Same raises an eyebrow at Steve, making a pointed expression, as he trailed off the end of the sentence.

And then it clicked for Steve. It all made sense now.

Giving Sam a once-over, Steve saw that he was wearing a pair of nondescript khakis, tennis shoes, a t-shirt and a loose jacket. But there, right under the collar of the shirt, he could see it.

“I’m sorry for this Sam, I really am.”

Steve levels his gun at the center of Sam’s chest, and pulls the trigger.

Sam is bodily knocked back, the force of the shot sending his body sprawling out on the floor, as Steve grabs Bucky’s wrist and spins him around towards the back of the lobby.  And just like that, they’re firing at SHIELD agents left and right, forcing their way back towards the elevators as an angry Brock storms into the building after them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ‘Earned Shirt:’  
> I came up with this concept based on the fact that all the Avengers have their own logos but they’re all either SHIELD agents or fill another role in this fic. Basically, when an agent achieves a rating of 10/10 (‘ten over ten’ signifies all objectives complete, no casualties and no collateral damage) on 10 missions, then they ‘earn their shirt.’ This shirt is a mark of achievement among agents and is typically only earned by top operatives. The shirt bears the agent’s own logo on the left side of the chest but is otherwise uniform. Each sleeve (short or long) has the SHIELD eagle stenciled on the shoulder and has a double stripe across the back that says ‘SHIELD’ in the middle. The printing on the shirt is always in white with one additional color allowed for the logo and the shirts themselves are solid colors. The agents who have earned their shirts in this particular fic are: Steve, Bucky, Natasha, Clint, and Brock. Some others may pop up here and there but they’re the ones that will actually wear their shirts at some point during the story.


	9. Elevators and Quinjets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elevators, elevators, another elevator, and probably another one after that. Brock and Bucky have their first encounter, there's bullets, there's grenades, and sweet, sweet escape.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So you guys are getting the next chapter today since I'm feeling exceptionally magnanimous at the moment. :)

 

* * *

 

Steve shoves Bucky ahead of him into an open elevator, bullets peppering the walls of the lobby and corridors around them. Using his body as a shield, Steve covers his husband as he slaps the control button to take the elevator to the back service entrance of the building.

Once the doors are closed and the elevator is in motion, Steve finally steps back from his protective position. “Goddamnit! Shit. Sam, you idiot!”

A faint ding signals the elevator’s arrival at the back of the floor and Bucky turns to Steve. “Hey, we gotta go.”

“Okay yeah.”  Steve grabs Bucky’s hand and leads him out to door and into a clear hallway.

They aren’t but a few steps into the hall before bullets are flying at them again, blasting plaster out of the walls around them.  Steve grabs Bucky around the waist and hauls him back around the corner towards the elevator, narrowly evading the last shots.

“You still out there, babe?”  Brock’s voice echoes around the corner.  “Or I suppose I should be calling you ‘Captain.’”

Steve closes his eyes and knocks his head back against the wall.  This shit can't be happening.

Brock continues from his position of cover around the corner. “You know I _really_ thought they’d set me up with a loser.”  He depresses the mag release on his SMG and slides in a new magazine.  “Turns out you were the most badass agent in the entire history of SHIELD.”

Steve steps over to the elevator door again, repeatedly pressing the call button.  They’re stuck in a dead end with the elevator as the only exit and one peeved off Strike agent down the hall.

Using hand signals to relay orders to the four Iron Legion units that have stepped into the hall to support him, Brock looks around the corner to the elevator alcove.  “You know, I hope you and your boy-toy had a good reunion fuck.  As long as he doesn’t mind where your cock has been…”

Bucky’s vision goes red. He grabs the corner of the wall in front of him as leverage and swings himself into the hall, unleashing a hail of bullets down towards where Brock is keeping in cover.  Just then, two of the Iron Legion mechs step into the hall, SMG’s at the ready.

Steve just barely gets a hold of Bucky’s arm in time to pull him away as the two Legionnaires open fire.

Bucky drops the mag from his pistol, shaking his head while smiling maniacally.  “That’s it. I’m ending this son of a bitch.”

Steve dashes back to the elevator doors and begins prying them open. “We don’t have time for this.”

Giving him cover fire as a distraction, Bucky fires back towards Brock down the hall but he’s using the two Legionnaires as cover to protect himself.

As Steve gets the doors open, he calls back. “C’mon, c’mon, let’s go!”

The two men jump into the horizontal shaft just after an elevator unit slides by and take off down the length of the building.

When the Legionnaires round into the elevator lobby, Brock sees the open door and turns to the first Legion mech. “Shit! Go after him, now!”

The Legion mech takes off through the door and is immediately smashed to pieces by a passing elevator.

Brock looks through the door to make sure the corridor is clear before ordering the other mechs through and entering after them.  “Disabling fire only on Rogers,” he orders.

The mechs begin taking carefully timed pot-shots down the elevator corridor after the fleeing pair.

Steve and Bucky grind to a halt as the corridor ends at the building’s edge, opening up into the support structure between buildings where there are near dozens of elevator units moving in every direction from building to building.

Glancing down, Steve sees an elevator approaching from below and knows that this is their only ride out.  Grabbing Bucky by the back of the collar of his jacket, “Jump!”

The two step off the ledge and down towards the elevator, which is still at least a floor and a half below them.

As they land, Bucky loses his footing and slides over the edge, Steve only just managing to grab his hand and catch him. “I gotcha Buck! Hold on!”

With the elevator about to pass the corridor they just jumped from, Steve pulls out his pistol with his free hand and takes aim, opening fire as soon as the corridor is visible. Brock is once again taking cover behind the three Legion mechs and Steve only manages to shoot one of their face plates off before the elevator passes the gap.

Brock gives orders to one of the mechs as another takes off at a run towards the elevator cab, “Track their movement!” The mech complies, keying a tracking algorithm into the control panel on its forearm before pointing to a nearby door where they can move to intercept the elevator's movement.

Re-stowing his pistol, Steve gets his other arm over the edge,  “Grab on!”

Once he has both of Bucky’s hands, he hoists him up on top of the elevator just in time to see a Legionnaire climbing up from the bottom of the cab.

As the cab stops at the next corridor up and starts to move horizontally, Steve kicks in the service door on the top of the cab before telling Bucky, “Get in.”

Bucky drops inside and Steve moves to drop in behind him just as his arm is caught by the Legion mech as it reaches the top of the cab.

Steve pulls the mech part of the way into the cab, trying to keep himself fully inside as the mech is sheared in half when the elevator passes fully into the corridor. He drops to the floor of the cab, the now sparking arm and hand of the mech still gripped around his forearm.

Shrugging off the now body-less mechanical limb, Steve notices the stunned looks on the faces of the elevator’s occupants. “This thing going down?”  Silence.  “No…?”

The elevator’s speaker pings as it reaches its designated stop and one of the doors opens.  The scared passengers dart out of the cab only to be met with incoming gunfire from Brock and the last two Legionnaires, killing two of them instantly.

Steve and Bucky duck back into the cab as Steve presses buttons to get the elevator moving again.

Several bullets pass through the door’s mechanical workings, jamming them open just as it starts to move downward to another floor.

Dropping his SMG, Brock un-holsters his pistol and bolts down the corridor with one the mechs following close behind. Sliding on the floor and laying flat, he manages to slide through the jammed the door just before it passes the floor. His right foot connects with Bucky’s chest as he enters, sending the man back into the wall.

Brock points his pistol directly at Bucky’s head but Steve manages to wrap his arms around Brock’s neck from behind, sending the two shots he fires off-target and into the wall. Shoving himself back, Brock manages to slam Steve into the wall but can’t shake his grip.

Steve moves his hands down to Brock’s pistol and shoves his thumb through the revolver release, dropping the magazine to the floor.  Releasing the pistol, Brock spins on Steve and lands a punch to the bridge of his nose while simultaneously kicking back out towards where Bucky is moving in on him, pushing him off.

Just as Steve is about to take a swing at Brock, an Iron Legion mech drops in from the ceiling and shoves him back into the wall again.  Steve immediately notices that this is one of the upgraded heavy armor units and he likely won’t be able to shut it down as easily as he had the regular one back in The Colony.

Brock makes his move to eliminate the competition and lunges fully at Bucky, tangling the two of them in flying fists and blocking arms. Neither of them is able to get the upper hand over the other as their skills in hand-to-hand seem to be evenly matched.

Bucky is really more of a sniper anyway and hand-to-hand combat is a secondary skill, but right now he’s got his Steve to think about and this bastard isn’t going to get in his way.

Steve is trading blows with the Legion mech when it manages to get the upper hand, spinning him around and shoving him towards one of the cab’s doors.

While he’s momentarily dazed, the mech grabs Steve’s head from behind and lifts him off the ground, attempting to crush his skull.  Acting on pure instinct, Steve kicks off the door in front of him and slams the mech backwards, dropping its grip.

Spinning around, Steve gets a grip on the mech’s chest plate and holds it against the wall of the passing elevator shaft, sparks flying from where its armor is grinding against concrete and metal.  A second later the mech’s head catches on a passing strut and is severed clean off, shutting it down.

Brock is still trading punches and blocks with Bucky when he realizes that Steve has dealt with the mech.

Making a split second decision, Brock manages to land a glancing blow to the side of Bucky’s head to distract him.

Grabbing a mag-grenade from his belt, he twists the timer on top and slams it against the metal door behind Bucky.  Before moving towards the jammed open door on the opposite side, Brock turns to him,  “If _I_ can’t have him, you can’t either pretty-boy.”

Steve reaches for Brock but narrowly misses as the man jumps out of the open door to land on a passing elevator cab below.

Bucky glances at Steve momentarily before looking up to the grenade that is now magnetically sealed to the door.  The countdown timer on the side only has 18 seconds left before it blows.

Steve looks up through the open maintenance hatch in the ceiling and sees another elevator cab approaching that should pass them just in time.

Grabbing Bucky’s hand he pulls him towards the open door. “C’mon babe. Get ready.”

As the countdown timer hits two seconds, Steve sees the edge of the other elevator pass below and he pulls Bucky out with him.

They fall the intervening distance just as the cab they had left explodes above them.

When debris from the elevator above breaks off, Steve glances towards the elevator corridor opening before them and manages to pull Bucky through.  A split second later the fiery remains of the cab impact the elevator below, ripping both units to pieces and sending their various parts descending down to the cityscape beneath them.

Pulling Bucky to his feet, he looks across the building gap to where Brock is standing, that same look of ‘I want to fuck you then kill you’ from their apartment fight plastered on his face.

Bucky turns to Steve. “Pierce really knows how  to pick ‘em.”

Steve rounds away from Brock’s gaze to meet Bucky’s. “Yeah, sure. Let’s go. We can’t stay here.”

And with that, Steve makes for the nearest elevator exit and he and Bucky move into the building to make their escape.

 

* * *

 

Brock is left standing there in the elevator corridor as he watches Steve and his boy-toy disappear into the next building. “Fuck!”

He doesn’t have any agents in the surrounding buildings and his team is all either in the lobby here or scattered throughout the building to cover all main exits.

When he stops to think about it, he really should have expected this from the best agent in all of SHIELD. After all, if he was able to stop Steven Rogers easily, then he wouldn’t be worth going after in the first place.

Brock closed his eyes, letting the afterglow from the thrill of the chase wash through him.  He could feel it make its way right down to his manhood, and it swelled in anticipation of what this man could do to him.  Fuck, he had to have Rogers.

Flexing his cock in the tight confines of his pants, Brock let the after effects continue to wash over him for another minute before finally turning and heading back into the building.

When he finally reached the lobby where the majority of the SHIELD agents had returned to, his hand-phone lights up. Shit, Pierce again. Stepping over to a glass wall panel, Brock places his palm flat to take the call.

It only takes a split second for Pierce’s face to appear on the screen. “You seem to enjoy making a habit of losing the Captain.”

Brock locks his jaw momentarily as he’s about to bite back at Pierce when the Chancellor continues instead. “Let him go. We have a Cyber team tracking him now.”

What the hell can Cyber do that Strike can’t? “Sir?”

“He’s going to lead us to Fury. And when he does, I want you ready to move in.”  Pierce levels his gaze directly at Brock.  “I’m heading to the Triskelion.  Have your team ready to go in one hour.”

Brock strains out his answer. “Yes, sir,” and the call disconnects.

Now the pieces all fit together.  They’re all just pawns in Pierce’s game to get Fury.  Brock kicks himself for the realization that Pierce is just using them all for whatever plan he and his political goons have cooked up.

Whatever, he doesn’t care about Pierce.  Politicians don’t even register on his index of what he finds interesting.  And right now, the only thing he’s focusing on is the #1 item on that very list:  Captain Steven Grant Rogers.

Turning to one of the armored agents standing guard in the lobby, Brock addresses him. “Hey, where is that guy they sent in here, Wilson?”

The agent turns in surprise, “Uh sir, one of the other agents removed his body and flew it out on a Quinjet.”

“What?! Which agent?”

“Dunno, sir. Clearance level was above mine so I didn’t ask.”

Well fuck. No answers to be had there. Wilson was probably dead anyway. Most people can’t take a .45 to the chest and live to tell the tale.

No, Brock was just going to have to ride this one out. And once that ride reached its end, he was going to do everything within his power to ensure Steven Rogers landed in his bed once again.

 

* * *

 

Steve and Bucky made their way through building after building, emerging onto the streets only when necessitated by the route that Bucky had laid out for them.

One quick stop at a streetside kiosk to buy ballcaps and sunglasses was the only delay they allowed in their travels, always ensuring that they kept moving and never in a straight line.

At a glide train station, Bucky lifted a couple Metro cards off of some passersby and they used them to cross the city on one of the express lines before ditching the cards in the trash.

It was another several hours of walking, weaving through pedestrians and hopping cross-district shuttles before they came to a slightly run down warehouse complex on city Level E as the sun was starting to set for the day. The sides of all the buildings bore the faded logo of Stark Industries.

Bucky saw Steve’s questioning look as they made their way through the perimeter barrier and into the complex proper.  “It was one of Howard Stark’s old storage complexes.  Tony cleared them out five years ago and condemned the buildings as ‘potentially unsafe.’”

Steve didn’t seem to buy that one. “That doesn’t sound like something Stark would do.”

That was rather true, but there was more to the story that Bucky knew. “True, it’s not like Tony to just throw a place as big as this away but he did it at Fury’s request.  SHIELD, or our part of it anyway, has been using locations like these as safe houses and meet points, changing locations every couple days any time we need to move people in and out of London.”

“Okay, that does sounds like something Fury _would_ do.”  Steve had to give Fury his due.  The man knew how to run a covert operation.  That said, Steve never did like the way Fury headed up SHIELD, despite the fact that it was clearly under worse leadership with Chancellor Pierce in direct control of the agency.  Fury kept too much in the dark and somehow that seemed to come back and bite _everyone,_ not just Fury himself, in the ass.  “So then this is our meet point? Who are we meeting?”

Bucky smirked, “Our ride. It’s just up this way,” motioning towards a set of stairs to the central warehouse.

They entered the central warehouse by means of the front stairs and began picking their way through the structure.  Steve noticed that the place had been relatively well cleaned out, with only the occasional cardboard box or empty crate left lying here or there.  Whatever had been here, Stark must have moved elsewhere or repurposed.

As they came up a final flight of stairs into the uppermost area, Steve noticed a first-model Quinjet had been landed inside.  The back ramp of the aircraft was down and there was someone sitting on it playing with their phone.

Noticing the two newcomers, the man on the ramp quickly pocketed his phone and stood to greet them.

“Hey man, long time no see!  Guess the factory life didn’t suit you after all!” the man said with a wink.

“Clint?” came Steve’s surprised reply.

“In the flesh.  You know I almost couldn’t believe it when I managed to get into Stark Industries and found you there putting together robots.  Definitely _not_ the type of thing I ever imagined you doing.”

Steve still seemed a bit dumbfounded.  “So wait, the whole thing with Rekall…”

“Nope, never been.  Fury had an ‘in’ plus Killian had been a pain in SHIELD’s ass for a while so he was considered expendable anyway.  Honestly, good riddance to the guy, he was _really_ creepy in a sort of serial-rapist kind of way…”  Clint visibly shivered as he made the comment.

Bucky spoke up, motioning towards the Quinjet. “So this is our ride?”

Clint perked up at the mention of his girl. “Yup! Meet Laura, my first love.” He was beaming ear to ear.

Steve raised an eyebrow. “Laura?”

Clint provided his explanation as they stepped onto the ramp. “Named her after my old high school girlfriend.  Faithful, honest, and good in a fight. They have a lot in common, these two.”

Bucky just hung his head at that, “Figures.”

Making his way up to the pilot’s seat, Clint keyed the ramp closed once Steve and Bucky had stepped inside. “Well you guys are welcome to take any seat you want and we’ll be on our way.  Sorry there’s no beverage service but there’s a couple water bottles in the storage rack up front.”

Steve sat in the first jump seat on the right side of plane with Bucky taking the seat next to him.

Bucky saw the exhaustion was starting to creep into Steve’s expression. “Hey babe, you doing okay?” He put his hand on Steve’s as he sat down.

Steve gave a small smile in return.  “Yeah Buck, it’s just been a lot to take in is all. Feels like a bit _too_ much at times.”

Squeezing Steve’s fingers in his own, he leant his head down on his shoulder.  “I know Stevie. I’ve been practically beside myself this past year not knowing what they’d done to you.” He let out a sigh, feeling Steve starting to relax beside him. “But none of that matters now that I’ve got you back.”

“Yeah, I know Buck. I’m not leaving you ever again. To the end of the line pal.”

Bucky placed his other arm around Steve’s shoulders. “To the end of the line.”

Glancing back at them as he starts up the Quinjet, Clint feels obligated to ruin their moment. “Hey, save the necking for when we get there. I don’t want to be cleaning jizzy bits out of Laura’s deck plates, okay?”

Bucky snickers. “Fuck you, Barton.”

“Might want to take that up with your man first!”  Clint laughed as he keyed the warehouse’s roof open, the large metal panels humming as they slid out of place above them, and lifted the Quinjet off into the darkening sky.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments, Kudos, questions, concerns? Direct them all my way. Always happy to give an explanation if something needs explaining (I'm like Dr. Ines Fressange that way lol).
> 
> Tech Note:
> 
> The elevators here are omni-directional, in that they can move on maglev guides in any of the six directions afforded to a cube. That said, they have doors on its four sides so it can orient itself to any door in any building within that elevator's system. In this manner, an elevator can move sideways to multiple lobbies on the same floor or up and down like a normal elevator. This has the added bonus of giving elevators the ability to move between buildings using overhead maglev rails if the buildings are connected to each other. It's a really cool system that they came up with for Total Recall (2012) and I decided to keep it.
> 
> Character Note:
> 
> Keep an eye on Brock through the rest of the story. Things will definitely get interesting later on... ;)


	10. Playground Play-Date

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky has a heart-to-heart with Steve and proves how awesome he is, they’re both reunited with their friends/allies and then bad things happen… again.

 

* * *

 

The three of them spend the first couple hours of their flight in relative silence.

Clint has the Quinjet on autopilot, allowing him to listen to music in his headset, while Steve and Bucky are propped up against each other in the crew compartment. Bucky knows that Steve is probably still exhausted from his brain-bending ordeal and the quiet time is at least letting his mind and nerves settle. Still, Steve has kept a firm gorilla grip on Bucky’s right hand ever since they sat down.

Bucky knows, on instinct, that Steve is trying to ground himself while also making sure that Bucky is still there.  It’s a coping mechanism of his that gets used after every solo mission they’ve gone on individually and after every time one of them has been injured out in the field or suffered some kind of near miss.  It’s endearing, if Bucky is honest with himself, but he knows that it will also lead to Steve stressing himself with worry if it goes on for too long.

Running his left hand over his jacket pocket, Bucky feels the two small items he’s been holding onto since they left their apartment that morning.  He’s been trying to think of a good time to bring them up to Steve but given his current state, the best time might just be right now.

“Hey, Stevie?”

“Yeah Buck?” Steve doesn’t even move his head to reply.

“I have somethin’ for ya.”

“Oh?” his expression brightens just slightly as he sits upright in his seat.

Using the opportunity afforded by Steve’s movement, Bucky moves off the seat and into a kneeling position in front of him.  It’s not all that comfortable on the hard grates of the Quinjet’s deck, but he can endure it for a few minutes since it’s for Steve.

“Yeah babe.” Bucky reaches into his jacket pocket, fisting the two items there before removing his hand and placing it, still closed, in Steve’s lap.  “Someone on the inside of SHIELD managed to get something to me after you’d had your head messed with and been spirited away.  I don’t know who it was exactly, as it just turned up in my gear one day after the rest of us had already fled London, but I’d like to think it was a sign at the time.”

Steve listens attentively to Bucky’s story while still holding his other hand.  It’s then that he notices Bucky is opening his hand and he gets a glimpse at what’s inside.

“I guess what I’m saying, Stevie, is will you marry me again?”

In Bucky’s hand lies both his own and Steve’s wedding rings.  The two bands of metal are simple affairs: black titanium bands framed with silvery tungsten on the outside and a single small diamond on the top.  Inside of both bands is etched in small block letters ‘TIL THE END OF THE LINE.’”

And for the second time in as many days, Steve is brought to the verge of tears once again.  He can’t help but feel all of the guilt he thought he had shoved aside the day before come rushing back at him full force.  Instinctively, he knows that he wasn’t himself for the past year and that there was no way for him to know that he’d had his memories wiped and replaced. But. having the memories of everything that’s happened over the past year _and_ the memories of his life before, it all just seems too much.

How can Bucky take him back so easily?  How can this man just set aside all that’s happened and still want him?  Steve can’t wrap his mind around it until it finally dawns on him.  Had their roles been reversed, had Pierce taken Bucky instead of him, he’d still want Bucky back no matter what.  And with that, he realizes that it really is _that_ simple.

Bucky sees Steve’s eyes watering as his face flushes red, but he continues undaunted.  “I know that you feel guilty for what’s happened over the past year even though you had no control over it. But, I want you to know that I still love you, no matter what, and I will always love you, til the end of the line.”

Giving Steve a small but meaningful smile, “So wha’d’ya say? Will ya be my punk again?”

Steve manages to return his smile while nodding.  “Yeah, yeah I will, ya jerk.”

Now beaming, Bucky slides Steve’s ring onto his left ring finger before handing his own to him so Steve can do the same in return.

Taking his place in the seat next to Steve again, Bucky gathers him into a hug against his chest and lets him sob his heart out even though he’s still smiling under it all.

Clint’s been watching the exchange in the cockpit’s mirror and chooses now as his moment to chime in.  “I think I must have a case of déjà vu, but I could have sworn you guys already did that whole thing like, I dunno, five years ago, or something like that.”

Bucky can feel Steve’s smile grow bigger against his chest but Barton’s comment deserves a comeback. “It’s called a ‘renewal of vows’ dumbass.”

“Ohhhhhhh.” Clint feigns ignorance. “So is that like getting your parking validated?”

And with that the tension in the compartment is lifted as both Steve and Bucky dissolve into shuddering giggles, laughing quietly into one another.

Clint goes back to his music while smiling and muttering to himself, “I swear, those two are like a married pair of five-year olds sometimes.”

 

* * *

 

It was about an hour later when Clint announced that they were approaching their destination.

Bucky and Steve rose from their seats and stood in the junction between the crew compartment and the cockpit so they could see out the wide windows.

“Where are we?” Steve asked as he looked around at the non-descript chemically ruined landscape

“Eastern European Wastes.” Clint replied as he brought them closer to the ground. “What used to be Sokovia before the war.”

They could see the outlines of a moderate sized city beginning to form through the murky gray/brown haze that hung in the air.  The Quinjet swung around the city, passing what looked to be an old gubernatorial compound on a hill outside of the city proper before leveling out to face one of the surrounding mountainsides.

A section of the mountain itself seemed to move aside, large metal doors appearing behind the rock face before those also opened, revealing an internal bay where several other Quinjets had landed.  Clint guided their plane into the bay, bringing it to rest on one of the landing pads as the large doors closed behind them.

Once the Quinjet had been powered down, Clint stood from his seat to join the other two. “Fury is going to want to debrief you two A-S-A-P.  Probably best not to keep our fearless leader waiting.”

The three men disembarked from the craft’s rear door and walked into the facility proper.  Steve reached for Bucky’s hand, squeezing the other man’s fingers between his own to remind him that he was still here.  He could feel, in the pit of his stomach that the events of the past few days were somehow coming to a head.  So every touch of skin, every hand held, every kiss stolen, every embrace connected, mattered to him.

Clint led the two down a few short corridors and up to a laboratory area boasting large paned glass windows emblazoned with the SHIELD emblem.  Stepping into the room, Steve started recognizing faces and people from his past; dots connecting to one another as his brain continued to knit his memories back together.

“And just when I thought you two couldn’t possibly be any more sickeningly adorable than you already were.”

Steve smiled, releasing Bucky’s hand so he could hug his ‘adoptive little sister.’ “I missed you too Nat.”

After their embrace, Natasha moved over to Bucky, hugging him in turn. “So how many vehicles did you manage to destroy rescuing your boy?”  There was a warmness in her playful smile that Bucky had missed over the past year.

“ _I_ didn’t destroy anything.  Steve though, managed to trash a maglev cycle, a Quinjet, and one of Stark’s multi-million credit maglev cars.”

Steve smiled and blushed beside them, rubbing his hand on the back of his neck.  “Two more cars ended up as collateral damage when we, uh, ‘landed’ on the way to the apartment too.”

Natasha managed to look impressed. “Damn Steve, you keep this up and I’ll end up winning the car pool.”

Bucky looked confused. “Car pool?”

“Some of us took bets on how many vehicles Captain Crash Dummy here would manage to destroy before this is all over.” She quipped while nodding at Steve.  “I’m currently in the running to win it, now that I only have one other person in the running with me.”

“Who’s the other person?”

“That’d be me,” Came a new voice from behind them.

Seeing his opportunity to cut out, Clint headed back out into the hall in search of something to eat. Pizza, definitely in a pizza mood today.

As Clint departed, Steve turned to face the new person in the room. “Sam!?”

Sam stepped up to him, wrapping him in one of his typical ‘bro hugs,’ complete with smacks on the back and all.  “Dude, don’t you ever accuse me of not taking a bullet for you because I _literally_ let you shoot me to save your ass.”

Bucky looked confused all over again. “Wait, Steve shot you in that lobby.  I thought he killed you!”

Shrugging, Sam seemed impassive. “Stark-tech low profile body armor.  Some SHIELD agent provided it to me right before I was sent in there and told me to keep it quiet.  You know, I’m still not cool with all this spy shit.

One day I get a call from SHIELD asking me to be an observer for them and then next I’m being shot at by the baddass-of-the-century.  When I came to I was on a jet headed here and sporting the biggest shiner of my life on my chest.”

“Yeah, sorry about that,” Steve looked genuinely apologetic. “Once I heard you use that code phrase I knew that you would be okay and we could escape.  Makes me wish I had a smaller caliber gun and not Peggy on me at the time.”

“What code phrase?”  Bucky was still clearly in the dark about what it was Steve had seen or heard back in the lobby.

“SHIELD Special Services uses them in protection details and hostage negotiations.  Sharon taught me a few of them a while back, ‘just in case’” Steve shrugged.  “The one he used was ‘Twist it Down,’ which means that the entire situation is a ruse and no one can be trusted.”

Bucky crossed his arms, looking put out. “You gotta stop keeping secrets like that.  You’re gonna to give me a heart attack one of these days.”

“Hav’ta keep some mystery to me, right?” Steve’s smile was warm but he clearly knew what Bucky had meant.

“After all this shit, I’ll be happy with just plain ol’ _plain_ for a while.”  Bucky sagged a bit, letting his arms fall as he laid his head on Steve’s shoulder.

“Plain sounds nice, actually.”  Steve replied while wrapping his arm around Bucky’s shoulders.

There was a faint click as the door to the room opened and closed, admitting four more people into the space with them.

“Captain, welcome back to the fold.”

Nick Fury led the small group, eye patch firmly in place and looking every bit his somber, serious self.  Behind him came the dynamic scientific duo of Leo Fitz and Jemma Simmons (‘Fitz-Simmons’), and was finished up with Phil Coulson.

“Nick,” Steve offered his hand to shake while keeping his other arm firmly around his husband’s shoulders.  “I’d say it’s good to be back but it was hell getting here.”

“Yeah, well, action always was your thing.  Never could get you to slow down once you were going.”

Steve smirked in return.  “This guy is the only one who could get me to slow down,” he replied, nodding towards Bucky at his side.

“I suppose I should make Barnes your handler then.”  Nick added a knowing eyebrow raise at the end.

“He already more than ‘handles’ me, so why not?”  Steve smiled ear to ear and now it was Bucky’s turn to flush red.

Natasha made a less than subtle gagging sound while Sam just rolled his eyes and turned away.

“T-M-I, Rogers. I don’t think _anyone_ wants to know that.”  Nick said while moving into the lab fully.

Coulson walked up to the pair then, offering his hand to Steve.  “Captain, it’s an honor to have you back!”

“Thanks Phil.  I just hope we can fix all this before anything else happens.”  He shook the agent’s hand before moving to follow the rest of the group further into the lab.

“If anyone can, Captain, it’s you.”

As the whole group walked to the back portion of the lab, Steve saw a chair, rather similar to the one he’d briefly sat in at Rekall, set up and being prepped by Fitz-Simmons.  Bucky could feel Steve tense up beside him, clearly apprehensive about having to sit in one of these chairs again.

“You know, I didn’t have the greatest experience the last time I sat in one of these things.”

Simmons was the one to respond, he soft voice trying for comforting. “I’m sorry Captain, but we’re going to have to run another psycho-polygraphic panel on you to see what you learned of Pierce’s plans before he had you wiped.”

Fitz turned from his monitors to add in.  “Simmons will be monitoring your brain chemistry while I ‘ask’ your brain questions looking for key words.  Hopefully we can help you remember anything you saw.”

Steve’s expression fell and Simmons tried to get ahead of any negative reactions. “Don’t worry. It’s not physically invasive and there won’t be any restraints on the chair.  All you have to do is just sit there and let us poke around electronically.”  She tried for levity by offering a smile, hoping it would help.

Bucky grasped Steve’s hand before adding “I’ll be here with you Steve.  Nothing bad is going to happen.”

Steve sighed, but let himself be led toward the chair. “Okay, Buck.”  Turning to the two scientists, “Let’s get this over with.”

Sitting down and leaning back into the chair, Steve took a deep breath and tried to relax, letting himself focus on where his fingers touched Bucky’s in his right hand.

Moments later, the monitors and holographic displays beside the chair lit up and began displaying his various readouts.  Once Simmons had done her first check on his vitals and brain functions, she placed her small hand on his arm, gently.  “Let us know if you feel anything uncomfortable and we’ll stop.  This isn’t supposed to hurt you.”

“Okay.”

Fitz begins sliding his hands over the displays, minimizing and removing various screens as he eliminates the need to view the information displayed on each of them.  Something was off about the information being displayed, as though it was being obscured through a filter designed to make it just slightly different but not obviously so.  Anyone else may have missed it but he lived for information and technology, and this wasn’t right.  “Jemma, are you seeing anything that’s off?”

Jemma focused on her screens, looking at the chemical balances and vitals displayed, quickly running over the bio readouts as a pattern formed in her mind, pieces falling together.  “There’s a chemical print embedded with the old programming for the wipe.  It’s distorting the readouts slightly.”

“Right, give me one second.”  Fitz’ fingers flew over the displays, working overtime to input code and decipher information and then he suddenly clapped his hands together. “Got it!” he announced to the room.  “There’s a secondary ‘file’ chemically printed under the wipe programming.  One second.”

More flying fingers and typing and there was now a holographic image forming in front of Steve’s face for the whole room to see.  Over the next few seconds, the image resolved itself into a face and then further cleared until it was easily recognizable.

Fury frowned as the image resolved. “Pierce.”

The holographic image began speaking “Hello, Nick.  You can't imagine how much I've been looking forward to seeing you again. It's been far too long. You know, you're a very hard man to find when you want to be.”

Fitz looked up towards the others in panic, “It’s transmitting coordinates outside the base!”

“Shut it down!” came Bucky’s worried reply, an expression of panic starting to take over his face.

“It’s a trap.” Natasha says, processing their circumstances around them.

The lights in the entire facility winked out, emergency lights coming on in sparse locations a few seconds later.

Everyone in the room starts to scramble into action, reaching for weapons or other implements to defend themselves with while others take cover behind desks or chairs.

While everyone was still reacting, gunshots echoed through the hallway outside and three of the windows in the front of the room shattered to tiny pieces, scattering glass over the floor.

Steve barely had a moment to register the events going off around him in rapid-fire fashion before he sees four armored SHIELD agents jump in front of the shattered windows with restraint rifles in hand.  Reaching for Bucky, he tries to pull the man down but ends up being just a split second too late.

The agents in the hallway pull off multiple shots, magnetic binders shooting out from the front of their rifles and snagging each of their intended targets.  Three seconds later, and the only people in the room not in electrically charged mag-binders are Fury and Steve.

And the entire base went eerily silent.

More agents walked down the hallway, stepping through the shattered door and into the laboratory, broken glass crunching under heavy combat boots.  The two faces in the center of the group set Steve’s nerves on fire, one of them especially.

The older of the two speaks first, wearing a dark gray business vest, white collared shirt and tie under thick black SHIELD body armor.  “Well done, Captain.  You managed to do in a couple days what I couldn’t manage in a whole year.  You found Nick Fury.”

Steve seethed, but held his tongue.  He wasn’t going to give Pierce the dignity of a reply to his obvious goading.

Pierce simply smirked, turning to Nick.  “Nick, you really _are_ a hard man to find. I have to say though, I’m disappointed in you.”

“Yeah, how so?” Nick was somehow maintaining his cool despite the situation.  Trust Nick Fury to never lose his cool, even with guns firing and windows shattering.

“What I’m doing. It’s the next step forward, and you weren’t willing to take it.”

“Then let me ask you this. Why did you make me head of SHIELD?”

“I made you head of SHIELD because you were the best and most ruthless person I’d ever met.  But you clearly didn’t have the resolve to do what’s necessary for the world.”

“I do what I do to _protect_ the people. _All_ people.”

“SHIELD is loyal to the UFB, _not_ The Colony.  The Colony is full of nothing but scum and ingrates who don’t appreciate what we provide for them.”

“The _world_ deserves security, not just the UFB.  SHIELD _should_ be loyal to _everyone_.”

“And the UFB deserves to _live_.  And if The Colony has to go in order to make that happen, then so be it.”  Pierce shrugs, acting like this is the most elementary of conclusions to come to and everyone else should agree with him.  “I’m sorry Nick. I really am.”

Pierce turns to the armored agent standing beside him and nods towards Fury.  “Kill him.”

It’s only a split second, but for some in the room it happens in slow motion.  The agent in question draws their pistol up out of the holster, lining it up directly with Nick Fury’s chest.  The sound is sharp in the enclosed room as they pull the trigger twice, sending two rounds into the man’s chest and dropping him to the ground.

Steve starts to reach for where Fury has hit the ground, “Nick!”

Before he can even move more than a few inches, there’s another gun out.  This one is aimed at his own head this time.

“Not so fast Cap.  Don’t want anything happening to your pretty face,” says Brock, having stepped forward from his previous position by Pierce.

“Screw you Rumlow!”  Bucky spits from where he’s standing, immobilized.

“That’s the idea kid, but not for you,” he says while winking at Steve.

It’s Pierce who speaks next, this time directed at Steve.  “Captain Rogers, I’m still very much impressed by your record and what you continue to achieve.  You’ll serve the new SHIELD well, after we take care of that little loyalty issue of yours.”

Another agent steps forward carrying a pelican case, the contents of which Steve can only guess at.  One of the other agents, the one that shot Fury, steps forward and shoves Steve back into the chair behind him before tossing vibranium mag binders at his wrists, adhering them to the metal arms of the chair.

Pierce speaks to the two agents as the first opens the case to reveal several vials of fluid and a pressure syringe. “Wipe him again and when he comes to, have him do the honors,” he nods towards where Sam, Natasha, Coulson and Fitz-Simmons are standing, securely wrapped in mag binders.

“You won’t get away with this,” Natasha comments as several of the armored agents surround them.

“That’s the thing, Agent Romanoff.  I already have.” Pierce turns to where Brock is standing, pistol still pointing at where Steve is now restrained in the chair.  “Bring Agent Barnes with us.  He deserves a front row seat to watch his boy help end The Colony.”

When Brock grabs Bucky’s bindings, he spits at the man, “Get off me, jackass!”

Steve fights against the metals cuffs at his wrists as Brock shoves Bucky. “Don’t touch him!”

“Cool your jets Cap.  It’ll all be over soon.”  Holstering his pistol Brock pulls another small vial out of his pocket and tosses it to the agent that’s preparing the chemical injection beside the chair.  “Add that in there.”

Steve looks between Brock and the agent, a mixed expression of confusion and horror on his face.

As Brock manhandles Bucky out of the room, he looks back over his shoulder at Steve to silently mouth the words ‘ _you’re mine_.’

Once Pierce, Brock, Bucky, and their other escorting agents have left the room, it’s down to just the remainder.  Sam, Natasha, Coulson and Fitz-Simmons have six agents standing behind them, rifles at the ready, in addition to the two agents working to prep Steve to be wiped.

Steve continues to struggle against his bindings before looking up at the agent to his right.  Oddly, the agent makes eye contact with him momentarily before gesturing down towards his cuffs with their eyes.

Confusion hits him momentarily before Steve looks down at his right wrist where the indicator light on the cuff there blinks subtly.  He looks back up at the agent again and makes eye contact once more.  The agent looks down again, this time at the pistol holster at their hip.

Looking down again, Steve sees that the pistol is in the holster but the restraining strap is unclipped and it’s been placed in… backwards?  The grip of the pistol is literally an inch from his hand and placed in such a way to be right where it needs to be for _him_ to grab it.  Wait, is this?...

Third time being the charm, Steve looks up at the agent again and this time is greeted with a barely imperceptible head nod.

Just then, there’s a voice coming from behind the six guarding agents. “Am I late? I’m totally late, right?”

Tony Stark.

Not hesitating a second further, Stark keys a button on the red and gold mechanical glove that he’s wearing and the mag binders holding everyone, Steve included, deactivate simultaneously.

The room erupts into finely controlled chaos.

Steve grabs the pistol of the agent next to him while the agent themselves raises their rifle and takes out the agent prepping the memory injection.

Leo makes a dive for Jemma, crashing to the floor with her underneath him for cover as he wraps his arms over her head.

Sam immediately hits the deck while kicking out towards one of the agents behind him, impacting them in the knee and dropping them to the ground. A quick follow-up kick to the bridge of the nose ensures the agent doesn’t get back up.

Natasha is a black and red blur as she spins and wrenches the rifle from the agent nearest her and belts him across the face with it, knocking the man unconscious.

Coulson manages a reach-down motion, freeing a pistol from the agent to his immediate left and uses the pistol to drop the man in two shots.

Stark levels his gloved hand at one of the remaining agents and releases a repulsor blast to the man’s face.  The results are instant, permanent, and not for the squeamish or faint of heart.

Steve is the one who gets in the final shots, using his acquired pistol to take down the last three agents in the room all while never leaving his seated position in the analysis chair.

“Well, that was efficient,” comments Stark as he takes in the room.  Everyone seems to have gotten off one kill each except for Steve, who manages three. Go figure.

The ‘double agent’ that helped Steve reaches up to pull of their helmet, letting a brown ponytail fall free to be shaken loose.  “Damn helmet was squeezing my brain.”

“Hill?”  Steve seems only slightly surprised.  This is exactly like something she’d be doing; playing Pierce’s people from the inside while helping Fury.

“Yup.” She looks to the others in the room. “Someone want to help Fury up?”

Everyone looks at where Nick is lying on the ground as he starts speaking.  “Looks like I’m not the ‘token black man’ today.”

Sam hangs his head. “Really man? 20th century pop-culture themes?”

Natasha is the one who reaches down and helps Fury to his feet as he picks the two bullets that hit him out of his bulletproof vest. “Nice of you to join us Stark.”

“Hey, my house in Bristol got trashed for you people so show a little appreciation.”

Steve rises from the chair, happy to be away from it and the possible implications it held for him. Motioning towards the various mag binders laying on the floor, “How did you do that thing with the…”

“Universal shutdown frequency.” Stark answers matter-of-factly. “Pierce thought I was dead and took all my little overrides for my tech with me into Bristol Bay but yeah, no such luck for him.”

Clint’s head pops into the room from the same ‘hidden’ door Tony came through. “Everyone okay?”

Natasha rolls her eyes. “Late as usual Barton.”

“Hey, I’m exactly _where_ I’m needed, _when_ I’m needed. And you guys _obviously_ didn’t need me here.”

Leo and Jemma stand from their previous defensive position under a nearby table to take in the group around them. Jemma speaks up first. “Fitz and I will take care of first aid for anyone else that’s left in the base.”  She points towards where several medical kits are located on a shelf nearby. “Grab those Fitz.”

“Yup, got it.”  Kits in hand, Fit and Simmons depart into the hallway to look for other injured personnel.

Hill is the one who offers a hand to Sam, pulling him off of the floor.  “Wilson, good to see you made it.”

Sam knits his brow questioningly as he stands. “Do I know you?”

“I’m your SHIELD contact from ‘recruitment.’” She uses air quotes for emphasis on the ‘recruitment.’

“You know, I’m am _not_ built for this cloak and dagger shit lady.  I’m just a retired pilot who’s ass is in way too deep here.”

“You’re a pilot?” Fury asks.

“Yeah, I was before I got out of the military.”

“Can you fly an F-51?”

“Yeah, why?”

“Can always use experienced pilots like yourself.”

“Hey!” Clint mocks offense at their exchange. “I’m all the pilot any of you need here.”

Fury ignores the comment, turning to Hill instead. “What’s the status on Pierce’s plans?”

She offers her explanation as she removes various pieces of the bulky armor she’s wearing.  “He’s loading up The Fall with his army of mechs as we speak.  Pierce is planning to head to The Colony to oversee the invasion himself.  Their drop window is in about 9 hours so once he’s on board, he’ll be hard to get to.”

Steve registers this and isn’t about to waste any more time on thinking things through. “I’m going after him. I have to get Bucky back.”

Fury puts his hand up, trying to motion for Steve to stand down. “Rogers, we need to put together a plan of attack before we take any action here.”

“I have a plan Nick. _Attack_.”

Stark shakes his head slightly, looking up towards Steve and Fury. “That _so_ sounds like something I would say. Can I use that later? It sounded really cool.”

Not giving Stark’s comment a second thought, Steve continues, “Look Nick, I know that we need to stop Pierce and I intend to. But, _Bucky_ is my priority right now so I’m going to go get him back.”

Natasha walks over to Steve, placing a hand on his arm. “I’m going with you. We stand a better chance of stopping Pierce _and_ rescuing Barnes if we both go.”

“They left one of their Quinjets in the hangar for the agents that stayed back.” Clint offers the group. “Figured that’s how they’d have gotten Rogers back once they had him take care of the rest of you. It’s probably the best way to get cleared to land on The Fall without them noticing what’s up.”

“Good.” Steve says quickly. “I’ll fly and Nat’s with me.”

“If you guys give me two hours, three tops, then I can cook up a short programming slice that will at least put Pierce’s Iron Legion mechs into a maintenance override mode until they can figure it out,” adds Stark as he pulls his StarkPhone from his pocket.  “Should prevent him from activating his little synthetic army long enough to do whatever it is you guys do when you’re playing tinker, tenor, soldier, spy or what not.”

Stark then turns to Barton. “If you’re not otherwise indisposed, I could use your piloting expertise while I work on some things to help super-soldier and super-spy over there.” He makes a waving gesture towards where Steve and Natasha are standing as a means of explanation.

“Wait, you want me to fly _the_ Stark Quinjet?” Clint looks totally excited. “You want me to fly _the_ most advanced prototype aircraft since, like, _ever_?!”

Tony raises an eyebrow, “Yes?...”

“I love you Stark!” and Clint picks up the engineer in a huge hug, swinging him around like a child.

“Okay, yeah, sure thing buddy. Um, you can put me down now.”

Clint finishes his overly enthusiastic show of appreciation and sets Stark back down on the ground.

Turning back toward the group, Stark continues, “So anyway, the genius-billionaire-playboy-philanthropist comes bearing gifts for everyone…”  He gives a quick glance towards where Hill, Fury and Wilson are standing next to the woman’s discarded pile of armor, “Okay, almost everyone.”

Stark walks back towards the hidden door, reaching inside of it to pull out a large pelican case before walking back to one of the tables and tossing it down to open it up.

Everyone in the small group walks over to see what he’s offering out of his magical case, hoping to be gifted with new gadgets and/or weapons.

First, Tony hands a box to Hill.  “There’s a bunch of secure commlinks in there. They’re already frequency locked and it’ll take Pierce’s people the better part of like, a month to hack them so there’s those.”

Hill opens the box and begins distributing the ear pieces to everyone around the room.

“Next we have the fun stuff.”  He pulls a foam layer out of the case, revealing a varied assortment of weapons. “Custom light pistols and stun batons for the lady,” Stark says, nodding at Natasha, “a heavy pistol and some combat knives for the homo-erotic hero here.”

Steve raises an eyebrow.

“Oh come on Cap. Just own it.  I think everybody here knows you’re all about the D&A, not the T&A.”  Stark replies while patting him on the chest.

Steve simply shakes his head while taking the offered weapons while Natasha reaches in and takes her items as well.

“And finally Rogers, the last item is for you too.” Stark pulls out the last layer of foam to reveal a large metal disc and a pair of brown fingerless combat gloves.

Tony pulls out the disc and holds it up for Steve to inspect. “Consider it the world’s first-slash-largest combat frisbee if you like, but it’s a vibranium shield that you can off-hand in addition to your pistol or knives.”

Steve takes the proffered shield from him.  The back side has two leather straps mounted on metal brackets and appears to be bare metal silver in color.  Turning it over in his hands, he sees the front is much more intricate.  The outer ring of the shield is metallic dark gray with a second ring of bare metal silver followed by another ring of metallic dark gray.  The center circle of the dish is done in bare metal silver once more but has the SHIELD eagle centered in it, etched into the surface in a lighter shade of gray.

“Plus the gloves,” Stark continues. “they have a vibranium-tuned magnet inside the back that’s activated by a button in the palm so that you can keep the shield attached to your arm or have it come back to you should you drop it or throw it or you _actually_ decide to play frisbee with it.” He tosses the gloves on top of the shield. “Besides, I kind of figured that SHIELD’s top super-agent would be like, ten times cooler if he had an _actual_ shield to play with. Irony and so forth.” The engineer’s smile is playful but genuine.

“What about me?” Sam asks while folding his arms in front of him.

“Hrm? I thought Nick was giving you a jet?” Tony asks while looking between the two of them. “Besides, I already gave mine away so you can’t have that one.”

“Yay! Quinjet!” Clint happily provides from where’s he’s slowly spinning himself on an office chair a few feet away.

“Anyway, kiddos. That’s all that Uncle Stark has for you today.” Tony smiles while closing the case. “I have a custom rifle in another case for Barnes but he’ll have to get that _after_ you rescue his pretty-boy ass from Pierce.”

Fury picks up the conversation from there. “Alright then. Rogers, Romanoff, you guys go suit up and you’ll take the left-behind Quinjet as soon as Stark finishes his program hack.  Coulson, get on the horn with our base in Adelaide in The Colony and get Theta Protocol up and running. Hill, you’ll be flying me, Coulson, and Wilson to Adelaide directly and then we’ll be on to Sydney from there. Any questions?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I took The Playground (their main covert base of operations) from Agents of SHIELD and moved it to Sokovia since that makes the most sense for this story.
> 
> If you bother re-reading the short conversation that Sam has with Steve in the lobby of the apartment building back two chapters, you'll notice that the last words of each of Sam's lines become the code phrase he used. Spy shit, booyah!
> 
> Psst... anyone notice the Star Wars reference in this chapter? Don't worry, there will be a couple more... ;)
> 
> The 'token black man' reference is in direct correlation to how Samuel L. Jackson has been in said role in several of the movies he's starred in. Just thought I'd point out that that's not his role in this story. :)
> 
> "D&A not T&A" means "Dick and Ass not Tits and Ass."
> 
> Hope you guys enjoyed the character reveals. Had to throw a bit of humor in here since it's Marvel and it just wouldn't be right unless someone was poking fun at someone else at some point.
> 
> Comments, kudos, or even questions are always appreciated. They give me motivation to continue this thing. :)


	11. Departure and Arrival

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve reminisces, Bucky puts all the pieces together for himself and Brock comes to a realization that's too little too late.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is mostly exposition and setup with a bit of a big character revelation at the end. This is all in preparation for the next series of chapters where a LOT happens and starts to bring the story to the climax. :)

* * *

True to his word, once his various tech goodies had been distributed, Tony returned to his Quinjet with Clint and got to work on his temporary programming override for Pierce’s Iron Legion army.

Clint was puttering around the cockpit of the Quinjet, familiarizing himself with the prototype systems, controls, and the various buttons and switches that controlled everything from the engines, to stealth systems to weapons.  The Quinjet itself was parked in a super-secret sub-hangar that apparently only Fury knew about and Stark had simply had JARVIS hack into to gain access.

Fury, Coulson, Wilson, and Hill had departed a few minutes after adjourning their meeting to head down to The Colony the ‘long way.’  Tony had an inkling what this Theta Protocol was that Fury wanted activated since he’d been tracking all the various pieces of Stark-tech and where both divisions of SHIELD had spirited them away to, but he didn’t feel a need to reveal that since it wouldn’t serve any real purpose.

Steve and Natasha had headed down to the base’s armory and locker rooms for a quick change into new clothes to be ready for their mission to stop Pierce.  They had the full gamut of SHIELD equipment at their disposal, but in the end they both decided to make due mostly with what Stark had given them.

The gear Steve had chosen consisted of a low-profile armor vest to go under his typical shirt, topped off with a pair of navy blue combat pants along with a leather utility belt.  The accompanying magnetic leather-strapped shoulder harness for the shield along with a right hip pouch for the belt completed his ensemble.  It reminded him a of what he’d worn as his choice of tactical gear back in the Academy so, of course, that brought back memories of Bucky.

Even having known Bucky since childhood, Steve was always taken back by how skilled and graceful the man could be with a weapon in his hand.  Whether it was a knife, a pistol, or a sniper rifle, James Barnes moved and carried himself with a self-assured stride and utter purpose in everything he did.

One particular memory drags itself up, that of a time spent out on the firing range working on their weapon skills.  Bucky was laying prone in his sniper’s nest, brown shirt stretched tight across his back and hugging his biceps, black tactical harness, pants, and boots capping it all off.  Sure, they’d been ‘together’ since their first shared kiss in high school, but seeing the man laid out on the ground, weapon in hand, focused entirely on the target ahead of him, made Steve’s heart skip a beat.  The look of pure calm, concentration, and surety seemed to be a complete opposite to Bucky’s usual relaxed, humorous and amiable self.

The difference, the contradiction in it, and the strength and power Bucky radiated served only to draw Steve in towards him.

Their time together since joining the SHIELD Academy had been full of such moments.  Be it practicing hand-to-hand combat, studying group tactics, or learning how to utilize the latest gear and tech, Steve found himself mesmerized by Bucky’s child-like fascination and enthusiasm.  There was no doubting that the man he loved was smart, intuitive, and quick to grasp the situation around him where Steve himself seemed to concentrate purely on the moment, taking immediate action, and doing everything he could to cover his teammates and take out the bad guys.

But those were their roles and their strengths.  Bucky was an overwatch, an observer, taking action from the outside and shaping the landscape with carefully placed shots to ensure the whole picture was adjusted in such a way to achieve mission completion.  Steve was a direct-action operative, punching, kicking and shooting his way into the middle of the storm, cutting a swath directly through the action to the mission’s goal.

Then, in their second year at the Academy, they’d been introduced to the newly joined Natasha Romanoff as she started her first year, and found out that their little duo actually functioned quite well with a third.  She brought a level of finesse and sleight-of-hand that neither Steve nor Bucky could manage to master.  Natasha could infiltrate, reconnoiter and disable like a nearly invisible flame-headed ghost.  In and out with exactly what they needed and with no bad guy ever the wiser for it.

Tactical exercises, disguised as ‘capture the flag,’ became a favorite pastime of theirs.  Typically being put into teams of five, they quickly formed a loose reality gameshow-like alliance with Clint and Phil that eventually transformed into a full-on permanent Academy team.

Bucky would call out locations, placements, and opposing team tactics.  Steve and Natasha would act on the ground, handling direct engagement and stealth infiltration respectively.  Clint would sneak into the trees only to pounce on enemy team members with a triumphant howl of “Like a hawk, bitch!” while Phil contented himself with running support for Steve and Natasha while simultaneously attempting to keep Clint out of trouble.

As Steve pulled himself out of those memories, he managed to refocus himself.  He needed to get the man associated with those memories back.  And he didn’t care if he had to take down Pierce, Rumlow, or the entirety of SHIELD and the UFB to do it.

Natasha placed a supportive hand on his shoulder, seeing the worry starting to eat at him, but didn’t feel the need to say anything.  She may nag and poke both Steve and Bucky like the little sister they never had growing up, but she knew when they just needed a supporting hand or a nudge on the shoulder to get them back on track.

She herself had changed into her typical lightly armored infiltration suit with accompanying utility belt and pistol holsters.  The stun batons from Stark folded down to an easily stored size were placed in the belt along with a few other usually helpful items.

“Let’s go see if Stark has anything for us yet,” she said, giving Steve’s shoulder a last squeeze before letting go.

“Yeah, alright,” he answered as he lifted the metal shield and placed it on his back.

They walked the short distance back to the lab and then through the hidden door and down the corridor leading to the second hangar.

Stepping aboard Stark’s Quinjet, they saw the genius madly typing away at a holo-keyboard, deep in concentration.  Clint looked up from his place in the pilot’s seat, waving as they approached.

Steve glanced around the aircraft, clearly impressed with the level of advancements over the typical SHIELD Quinjets and their utilitarian design.  “Making much progress, Stark?” he asked, stepping up behind the man.

Tony turned to look at him and Natasha momentarily before turning back to the monitor in front of him. “Hm? Oh, almost, maybe, not quite?”

“Not quite?”

“The programming that runs the Iron Legion mechs is rather complicated and Pierce’s people have made a lot of changes for optimal, you know, shooty-killy action,” Tony flings an exasperated gesture at the display.  “I can get through it, but it’s going to take a bit longer than I originally thought.”

“Stark, we’re kind of on a timeline,” replies Natasha. “And I’m pretty sure Rogers here is going to burst out of his skin if he doesn’t start making some kind of progress toward getting Barnes back.”

“Yeah, yeah.  I know.  World to save, sexy tight-buttocked agent to rescue and all that,” he waves at them dismissively.  “You guys can actually get going ahead of us if you want. I’ll transmit what I have put together while we’re both en route.”

“That’s going to be cutting it close.”

“No, not really. This baby is a hell of a lot faster than the ones SI builds for SHIELD, so we should be able to catch up to you even with your head start.”

Clint cranes his head over from his seat in the cockpit, “Stark, have I told you exactly how much I love you?!”

Tony looks at Natasha while jerking his thumb towards Clint, “Is he always like this?”

“Clint has a thing for flying and going fast. Since you’ve given him a new toy that is pretty much the best in the world at both, you’re probably in for a lot more of that.”

"Huh, weirdo," Tony says while shaking his head. "So yeah, anyway, you guys take off now and we'll catch up.  Chop, chop!"

With a final wave to Clint and a quick nod to Tony, Steve and Natasha depart for the main hangar and the Quinjet left behind by Pierce's forces.

* * *

Bucky struggles in his bindings for no other reason than to be indignant.  He might be stuck in a mag binder, but he doesn’t have to be happy about it or make the lives of these SHIELD agents any easier.

Brock manhandles him into the back of one of their Quinjets and unceremoniously shoves him into one of the jump seats.  “You can chill out here, kid. Make any noise and I’ll gag your ass though.”

Feeling defiant, Bucky sneers at him and uses his right hand to flip Brock the bird from where it’s pinned to his side.

Once the Quinjet is loaded and airborne, Brock takes the seat directly across from Bucky, glaring at him as though the man has personally offended him in some way.

Bucky glares back as he feels the aircraft lift off, maneuvering out of the hangar and into open air. The cabin shifts slightly as he hears the scramjets kick in, taking them quickly up to top speed back towards London.

It’s after several more minutes of angry glaring that Brock finally says something else to him. “Why you?”

“What?” This guy doesn’t make any sense to Bucky.

“Why would Rogers want to be with you? He’s better than you.”

“You don’t know a damned thing about him.” Bucky knows Steve like no one else does and this Brock guy couldn’t possibly understand who Steve really is, as a man _and_ a person.

Thankfully, they ride out the rest of the flight in silence.

* * *

As their flight enters into its final leg, Bucky glances out towards the cockpit windows where he can see the three towers of The Fall off in the distance.  Strangely, all three of the skyscraper-sized transport units are here in the UFB; and that’s when he sees them.

Black and silver assault transports are landing on the tops of the three towers, offloading Iron Legion mechs by the dozens. Pierce is _invading_ The Colony.

Pieces start to click into place for Bucky once he sees the sheer number of mechs.  Steve must have gotten wind of Pierce’s plans either on a mission or through a contact, somehow, and Pierce had found out about it.  That’s why Steve had been apprehended and then completely disappeared a year ago.

It was at the same time that Fury must have also put two and two together because that’s when the upheaval within SHIELD occurred.  Nearly ⅓ of all the agents in SHIELD summarily disappeared, Fury included, without a trace while at the same time he’d received his own coded ‘go to ground’ notification.

Of course it was only a couple days later that someone working for Fury had gotten in touch with him, providing enough cryptic information to answer a question or two, but also creating more in the process.  It wasn’t until nearly a three weeks later that Clint had contacted him and he’d been brought around to see Fury.

Naturally, Fury kept 95% of what he knew in the dark, so Bucky was still left guessing by that point, but nothing was new there.

Now, as they made their approach to Tower 1 of The Fall, at least he’d managed to assemble all the facts.  Too little too late though, Barnes.  Not really in much of a position to do anything about it at the moment.

Once their Quinjet touches down on one of Tower 1’s vehicle pads, the pad descends into the vehicle bay to be stored and then re-launched in The Colony.

After the back door drops, Brock points his pistol at Bucky. “Get out.”

Bucky is led, at gunpoint, into the passenger areas of The Fall.  Every one of the 52-passenger compartments they pass has been filled with Legionnaires, their mechanical forms each occupying a seat.

Quickly running the math in his head, Bucky knows that The Colony’s Security Force doesn’t stand a chance.  52 mechs to a compartment, 12 compartments to a deck, 46 decks per tower and three towers means…  The first wave of this invasion alone will hit The Colony with over 86- _thousand_ Iron Legion mechs.

Well shit, Fury had _better_ have a plan for stopping this.

Brock shoves him along to the back compartment on the deck, which happens to be empty.  He motions Bucky towards one of the rear seats with his pistol. “Have a seat!”

Once he sits, the mag binder holding him releases and two SHIELD agents come up beside him and zip-tie his wrists to the arms of the chair.

After he’s secured, Brock steps up in front of him.  “You know what, kid? Once I have Rogers back I think I’ll have them set up a 24-hour feed in whatever cell they throw you in so that you can watch him fuck me every damn day for the rest of your life.”

Bucky starts to actually get a real sense of what might be wrong with Brock, but he may just be too far gone.  “Is that all Steve is to you? Nothing but his damn cock?!”

“The fuck’s that supposed to mean?”

You know what, it all makes sense now.  “You really just see him as the Agent, as Captain Rogers. You don’t seem him as a _man_ , as a _person_ at all.”

“The hell do you know, kid?!”

“Know what, Rumlow?  I was pissed at you before but now, I’m not even angry. I just feel sorry for you because you’ll _never_ know Steve the way I do.”

Brock just stands there and makes a face that’s somewhere between confused and disgusted before turning to one of the other armored agents in the room, “Watch him. Keep him here until Pierce wants him.”

And with that, Brock is out the door of the compartment, leaving Bucky with nothing but the two guarding agents and his own thoughts.

Hopefully, Steve made it out of whatever they were trying to do to him back at The Playground and he’d get back here in time to stop this whole crazy situation.

Hopefully.

* * *

Once Brock is out of sight of the holding compartment where they have Barnes locked up, he slams his fist into the bulkhead beside him.

“Fuck!”  That kid was getting into his head.

That pretty-boy doesn’t know what the hell he’s talking about.  Rogers is the top-shit most badass agent in the history of SHIELD and that’s good enough for him.

But is it?

Goddamnit this doesn’t make sense now.  He wants _him_ , he wants _Rogers_ , he wants that man to throw him up against this bulkhead right now and plow his ass mercilessly until he’s full of the man’s jizz and it’s leaking out of him and onto the deck.  But what about… what about after that?

Who is Steven Grant Rogers?  Who is he _really_?

Realization is often painful, and Brock Rumlow is no exception to the pain that the truth can often bring to you.

He’s been letting his sexual attraction, his drive and his libido do the thinking for him.

Shit, he had already _had_ Rogers.  He’d had him when he was Evan, but was Evan _really_ that different from Steve?

Evan was strong, creative, fiercely loyal, always supportive, never looked away from someone in need and even though Brock knew that he was just ‘playing’ his husband, it always seemed like Evan _actually_ loved him.

That was it. Evan _was_ Steve.

Looking back on the almost year they’d spent together, Brock could see it. Evan was Steve but without SHIELD.  Evan was Steve without the tactical training and weapons handling but deep down, they were the same person.

But, Brock had been so damned focused on the job that he hadn’t even bothered to _live_ that year for himself.

Fuck. That pretty-boy was right about him. He’d been blind to it for that whole time because it was just a job to him.

Now though? He wanted that year back.

He wanted to go back to that shitty apartment in The Colony and walk in to find Evan’s dopey grin on his face while he made dinner for them in the kitchen.  He wanted to go back to that crap-ass bar they went to with Wilson and drink piss-flavored cheap beer with Evan’s arm draped over his shoulders as they watched the game on the holo-TV. He wanted to go back to their Saturday evenings where they’d cuddle up and watch movies together before getting into a play wrestling match that usually ended up with a lot of making out and occasionally, some really good sex.

Fuck. _He’d_ ruined it.

No, you know what, _Pierce_ had ruined it.  Pierce was the one playing this stupid political game the whole time that had resulted in exactly where he stood right now.

Pierce had given him a taste of something he couldn’t even recognize at the time because he’d been too caught up in feeling self-important at being picked for this ‘job.’

Screw Pierce and his stupid plans and stupid invasion. Screw all of it!

Brock walked around the deck to one of the maintenance halls, away from the other SHIELD agents and mechs.

Feeling completely alone, Brock lets himself slide down the bulkhead until he’s sitting on the floor, tossing his pistol down the hall like it’s on fire.

Pulling his knees up to his chest, Brock wraps his arms around them and buries his face in them as hot tears start to fall from his eyes. “Fuck this shit…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tech Note:  
> The Assault Transports used by SHIELD to get the Iron Legion mechs to The Fall are the same emergency transports used during the Sokovia rescue in Age of Ultron but with a different paint job and a couple more guns. Amazing how you can re-use a design with nothing more than a simple paint job that changes the entire character of the craft lol.


	12. I'd Fall for You all Over Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Three of our heroes make it to London, Stark is late (again), Brock throws a pity party and Steve finally gets to try out his new shield.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Birthday Cap!
> 
> ...And the rest of America too. :)
> 
> Big thanks to my two betas again for finding my odd sentence tense errors. They said this is the best chapter in this fic so far and I hope everyone else enjoys it too! :D

 

* * *

 

Steve and Natasha rode out the quick flight back to London in a near meditative silence.

Several bags of gear had been broken out of the Quinjet’s rear compartment as Natasha wanted to take stock of anything useful Pierce’s people may have left onboard.  She managed to find a case of high-explosive mag grenades and a sync timer, which she packed into a small backpack, along with a couple mini grappling hook launchers, audio enhancers, and mute charges.

Taking the items she thought were most useful and packing them into a duffel, she stored the remainder before returning to the cockpit.

Coming upon their destination, Steve took the Quinjet off of autopilot and disengaged the scramjet while taking the controls in hand.  Swinging the craft through the layered cityscape, soon The Fall was centered in the forward cockpit screen, looming like a castle, waiting to be stormed.

Natasha turned to him as she began keying into the communications system, “Here goes nothing.”

Entering the key sequence already programmed into the jet, it only took a second for the automated systems aboard The Fall to recognize the craft and clear them for landing.

An automated female voice gave them their answer.   _“Tower 1, Bay 1 landing clearance granted.  Initiating automated aircraft guidance.”_

Steve releases the control yoke as the Quinjet’s systems are handed over to The Fall, automatically steering the craft towards the top landing decks of Tower 1.  Once they are closer to the tower, he keys the cockpit viewscreen’s polarization mode, obscuring the interior from outside just in case there’s anyone around to see them set down.

The pair extract themselves from the cockpit to step into the rear compartment, grabbing their gear and getting ready to disembark.  Natasha grabs her small pack while Steve tosses his new shield onto his back and grabs the gear-laden duffel for her.

“So I guess Stark didn’t quite come through as promised,” Natasha observes as they wait for the vehicle lift to deposit them inside the bay.

Steve sighs, “We’ll just have to make due until he checks in. You packed explosives in here, right?”

“You know, Rogers,  blowing things up isn’t always the solution to a problem.”

“Still works most of the time though,” he answers with a raised eyebrow.

“So then, what’s the plan?”

“Take the grenades and set them on the support struts.  If Stark can’t get the mechs shut down then we might have to blow the Tower,” he replies as he slides a magazine into his pistol, racking the slide back.  “I’m going to find Bucky and then we’ll make our way up to take care of Pierce.”

Once the aircraft lift stops moving, the rear door lowers automatically and the pair immediately point their weapons out the door, ready for anything.  Luckily, they find the vehicle bay is abandoned of any SHIELD personnel or mechs, making their infiltration that much easier.

Glancing around to ensure there’s no agents lingering in hard-to-see places, Steve and Natasha make for the nearest hatch that will take them into the maintenance areas of the tower. Once they're through the door and into the maintaining spaces, Steve hands off the duffel.

“So when you get Barnes back and this is all over, are you going to take him on a proper reunion date? I know this little Sicilian place in downtown that’s really good and _super_ romantic.”

Steve lets out an exasperated sigh.  “Support struts first Nat, then you can set up a date for me and Bucky.”

“I’m multitasking.”  And with that she hops over the banister on their level and disappears into the bowels of Tower 1.

With Nat out of sight, Steve shakes his head at her antics.  Even in the midst of a death-defying mission to save a nation, she still manages to ease tension with a bit of humor and relentless teasing.

As Steve makes his way into the passenger sections of the tower, he glances around cautiously, noticing that there aren’t any SHIELD agents guarding any of the compartments.  Walking up to the nearest one and peering through the window of the sealed door, he sees why.

Seated in each passenger seat is a single Iron Legion mech with its head facing down and systems powered off.  Their black and gray armor plates glint dully in the subdued cabin lights, SMG’s strapped to the side of their legs and additional ammo in pouches on the opposite side.  None of these mechs are armed to disable, only to kill.

Steve’s stomach rolls at the thoughts forming in his head.  Pierce isn’t taking any prisoners in this invasion.  He’s planning on simply wiping out all of The Colony’s citizens and starting over.

As Steve makes his way down a level, he hears the PA system click on and start announcements.

_"Bienvenido.  Dobro pozhalovat.  Vítané.  Welcome to The Fall.  The time is currently 5:58 p.m.  Travel time to The Colony is estimated at 48 minutes.  Prepare for drop in two minutes."_

Shit, The Fall is dropping in less than two minutes and he still has to find where they’re holding Bucky.

Plus, at this rate, Stark is going to miss his window to help them.

 

* * *

 

Stark is seated in the co-pilot’s seat in his Quinjet along with a happily contented Clint doing the flying from the seat ahead of him.

They’re running behind thanks to a small, okay big, discovery he’d made while trying to cobble together his little maintenance override for the Iron Legion:  Pierce had managed to completely replaced every unit’s primary control sequencer.  There was literally none of his code left in these mechs and there wasn’t enough time to try to attempt to reprogram them from scratch.

Not only that, but Tony could finally start to see who Pierce had gone to for the new programming as he picked through it.  All of the programming markers and syntax were easily traceable to one Justin Hammer.  Snooty little creep managed to get his grubby fingers into everything of Tony’s and somehow turn something good into something absolutely horrible. Go figure.

So once Tony had this figured out, he’d told Clint to get them in the air and on their way to London.  His time was now better spent working to override The Fall itself, since that’s not something Pierce could easily interfere with unless he wanted Stark Industries to find out about it.

As the aircraft made its approach on the outskirts of London, JARVIS piped up on the internal speakers.

_“I have established a remote connection to The Fall.  It appears that Tower 1 has already begun preparations for drop.”_

“Shit,” Stark winces as his stomach sinks. They’re riding the fine line between ‘right on time’ and ‘way too fucking late.’  “What about my override?”

_“I have begun processing your override on Towers 2 and 3, one moment.”_

“What do we do about Tower 1?”  Clint asks from the pilot’s seat.

“Nothing for now.  You can’t override a tower’s drop sequence remotely. You have to be in the internal control room to do that.”

“So what’s the plan?”

“Give me a second.  Genius working here.”

_“Tower 3 has been successfully placed on lockdown.  Commencing override of Tower 2.”_

Tony bows his head as he racks his brain for options.  “Think, Tony, how do you interrupt The Fall?  Emergency systems shut down?  No, you have to pull a switch from the inside.  Environmental systems contamination?  No, those systems are protected against external hacking and tied to chemical detectors.”

Clint watches the towers of The Fall grow closer through the cockpit screen, noticing that all the exterior lights on Tower 2 have gone from white to red, followed shortly by the same change on Tower 3.

_“Tower 3 now in lockdown.  Sir, Tower 1…”_

Looking up at The Fall, he watches as the four locks at the top of the tower release and retract, sending the 46-level transport unit into free fall as it disappears into the Earth.

“Shit!”  Tony throws his programming stylus at the screen in front of him in frustration.  They were too late.

“Stark, what about the maintenance shaft?”

“What? What about it?” The hell is Clint on about now?

“Is it clear?”

“Well I assume Pierce isn’t having his people run _maintenance_ during an _invasion_ so yeah, I guess it should be.”

“Seat belt.”  Clint says as he starts to key on the Quinjet’s auxiliary control systems.

“What?”  Okay, this is going to be bad.

“Seat. Belt. _Now_!”

Tony fumbles with the 3-point seat belt, getting the straps over his shoulders and buckling them into the seat between his legs. He manages this just in time for Clint to throw the aircraft into an inversion roll that nearly causes him to toss his cookies.  “The hell are you…”

“Hold on!”

Tony feels his stomach lurch as Clint uses the now upward-facing lift engines to force the Quinjet into a nose-dive over The Fall.  A split second later and they’re hurtling down The Fall’s gaping maintenance shaft to chase after Tower 1.

“The hell man, warn a guy before you pull shit like that!”

“Sorry, no time for getting wordy.  I need you to tell me if there’s any maintenance units in place ahead of us.”

The engineer grabs the screen in front of him, keying in the Quinjet’s sensor systems to pull up an extended forward view.  When his dad designed The Fall, this is most certainly _not_ what he’d intended the maintenance shaft to be used for.

“So what are we doing? We going to shoot the units out of our way?”

“What?” Clint responds, confused. “I was planning to _avoid_ them. But hey, if you want to blow them up then…”

“No, no. Avoiding is good. Very good.”

Tony tries to fight his overloaded sense of vertigo as the Quinjet continues to barrel down the shaft towards The Colony, gravity tugging at his insides in all the wrong ways.

_“Sir, even at terminal velocity we will not be able to catch up to Tower 1 before it arrives in The Colony.  However, I have established direct communications contact with Agents Rogers and Romanoff aboard the tower.”_

“Really?  Well I’ll be damned.”  Tony presses a few buttons on his screen and taps the communications system link JARVIS has created.  “Hey Captastic, you in there?”

 _“Stark?! Where the hell have you been?!”_ comes Steve’s slightly distorted reply.

 _“Yeah, Stark, we could have used you, like,_ before _we left London,”_ Natasha adds in.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, whatever. We’re past that point now kiddos. So what’s the plan?”

 _“You_ were _the plan, Stark…”_ Steve trails off.

“Again children, we’ve moved past that. What’s Plan B?”

 _“Natasha is setting charges on the lock supports in case we have to blow the tower.  I’m working on finding Bucky so we can get to Pierce.”_  Steve’s voice sounds like a loud whisper, probably trying to move through The Fall as undetected as possible.

“Okay, that’s good. Good back-up plan. Hey J, pull up the tower schematics for The Fall for me?”

_“Right away, sir.”_

“Thanks. Also, make sure Clint here doesn’t fly us into a wall.”

“Hey, be nice to the pilot here!” came Clint’s indignant retort.

“Eyes on the road Hawk-boy or no more bird seed for you.”

“Okay, I take it all back. I _don’t_ love you, Stark.”

Tony just smiles to himself.  It was always great fun when he managed to get under someone’s skin.  Favorite hobby of his and all.  “Steve, what level and section are you on?”

There was a short pause on the line before Steve answers, probably trying to find a sign for the level he’s on.   _“Level 7, Section 4, why?”_

“I’m going to run a systems analysis on The Fall’s status program to see if I can detect where they’re keeping Barnes for you. Should make things a bit easier since I can hack into the environmental controls and use the temperature readings to…”

_“Speak English!”_

Okay fine, be that way and ruin his science fun.  “I’m going to play the pixie over your shoulder and give you directions on how to rescue the princess. Better?!”

_“So you’re my C2?”_

“I’m your C-what?”

“C2. Stands for Command and Control,” says Clint from the front.  “Means you’re his ‘mission control,’ ‘voice in his head,’ ‘dispatch,’ whatever you want to call it.”

“Okay sure Super-Cap, I’m your C2.”

_“Lead away then.”_

“So I take it that all the compartments are full of Legion mechs?”

_“Yeah, they are.”_

“Are the mechs powered off?”

_“Looks that way, why?”_

“Just a second.”  Tony’s fingers flew over the screen before him, pausing only so he could internally readjust his own equilibrium whenever Clint banked the aircraft to avoid an obstacle in the maintenance shaft.

Take the ambient temperature on average throughout The Fall, factor in air conditioning systems output per compartment, compare temperature differences and electrical load on the conditioner for each level, eliminate the constants in the system and “Got it!” Tony clapped his hands together triumphantly.

_“Really?”_

“There’s four compartments that aren’t full of Legion mechs based on my math. Barnes is either in one of those, or in the control room with Pierce.”

_“Which compartments?”_

“Two on level 40 and two on level 42.”

_“Heading down now.”_

“Oh, and spider lady?”

_“What do you want, Stark?”_

“Make sure you place your explosives on the lock supports right where they join the internal support structure for maximum explody-effect.”

_“Copy that.”_

 

* * *

 

 

Considering that The Fall wasn’t designed for people to be moving around while it’s moving, there’s no active elevators for him to use, so he’s stuck having to take the stairs.

Steve is taking the maintenance stairs from level to level as quickly as he can until he reaches the access for Level 40.  Cracking the hatch, he peers into the surrounding corridor, checking for any potential hostiles but, once again, the coast is clear of agents or mechs.

Moving out into the hallway fully, Steve starts to glance around the level, taking stock of the compartments from as far away as he can manage.  He spots the two compartments devoid of Iron Legionnaires but sees that they’ve been stacked full of crates and gear, probably things for the living SHIELD agents to utilize once they get to The Colony.  There’s also several SHIELD agents inside arranging and stacking items, but no sign of Bucky.

Stepping back to the maintenance access, Steve stairs his way down two more levels to 42, the second location Stark indicated.

Emerging into the access area with the same level of caution, Steve once again sees that the coast is clear.

He’s moving through the outer hallways towards the first section of compartments when he spots a figure, a person, sitting on the floor with their knees drawn up.  He raises his pistol as he approaches the figure, keeping his movements smooth and fluid.

The person sitting on the floor turns to face him, and it’s a face Steve recognizes.

“Go fucking figure, Rogers. There’s no stopping you is there?”

Brock Rumlow.  But this is rather out of character for him isn’t it? Why is he sitting on the floor anyway?

He has to keep his cool here. Bucky is what matters right now. “Where’s Agent Barnes, Brock?”

Brock lets his legs slide out in front of him, dropping his arms to the side.  “Chill Captain, your pretty-boy’s in Compartment 7,” he says, jerking his thumb over his shoulder to indicate the direction.  “Door code is 7-9-8-7.”

“You’re just giving him up?” This doesn’t make any sense to Steve, why is Brock doing this now? What happened?

“I’m done with this shit man.”

“What’s that supposed to mean? You’ve tried killing me at least three times now and Bucky at least twice.” No, Steve’s not going to give this guy any wiggle room.  He has to be working some angle.

Brock laughs slightly to himself. “You know, I realized something.”

“And what’s that?”

“I already _had_ you.” Brock looks up toward him, eyes red-rimmed from the pain his revelation has caused him. “I had you and I fucked it up because I was a fucking _fool_.”

“You mean when you were ‘taking it like a good husband’ because ‘you just work here?’”

Wow, that burned. “Yeah, I deserve that,” Brock chuckles slightly again, turning away from Steve to look off into space. “Go get your boy, Captain.  He’s more worth it than I am.”

“Look Brock, I don’t know _what_ your deal is but…”

“Just get the _fuck_ out of here Rogers!” Brock is fighting back tears again.  He can’t make eye contact with the man standing in front of him right now.  He’s pathetic and he can’t bear it. “Just _go_.”

Not needing any further motivation, Steve continues down the hall towards Compartment 7, leaving Brock to his own thoughts.

Taking stock of the situation, Steve sees that there’s one SHIELD agent walking the hallway outside Compartment 7 with another two inside, presumably to guard Bucky.  The guard outside has a restraint rifle.

Good, that means he can do this quickly and, hopefully, without alerting anyone.

Once the SHIELD agent outside is at his furthest point from the compartment door, he waits until the agent turns to face it. As soon as the agent does, Steve darts out from his cover at the maintenance corridor entrance and slams the butt of his pistol into the back of the man’s neck, dropping him instantly.

Guiding the agent to the floor, Steve unlatches the restraint rifle from the sling and brings it to the ready, now making his way towards the compartment and Bucky.

Once in front of the door, Steve ducks down so as to keep away from the door’s window as he keys the unlock code in.  As soon as the code panel flashes blue and the door starts to open, he springs into motion.

Swinging the rifle into the opening door, he pulls off a shot at the first SHIELD agent, the mag cord binder shooting forward and wrapping around the agent in question and pinning him in place.  A split second later, he gets off another shot at the second agent, but this one is faster than the first.

As the second mag binder leaves the barrel, the second agent manages to raise their right arm above their head, leaving it free once the binder wraps around his body.  No sooner than it’s wrapped around him, the agent makes a move to grab his pistol from his holster with the free hand.

Steve acts on instinct. Keying the mag-field on the front of the rifle that now connects it to the binder, he jerks the rifle upwards, forcing the bound agent up into the ceiling and through the glass covering the lights above.  Motioning the barrel of the rifle back down, the agent is then flung to the floor, unconscious.

“Bucky!”

Steve runs over to the seat where Bucky is zip tied to the chair and pulls out a knife to cut the ties.  “Hey babe, you alright?”

 _“Damage reported on Level 42, Compartment 7.”_ announces The Fall’s automated systems.

“Peachy Steve. Just peachy.” Bucky notices the large metal disc on Steve’s back. “What’s with the frisbee.?"

Steve just hangs his head and smiles as he finishes cutting the ties.  He’s about to hand the knife and his pistol over to Bucky when he suddenly has hands on his cheeks.

“Hey, you,” Bucky says, his voice deep and gruff, and he pulls Steve in for a heated kiss.

This is _that_ kiss again.  The same one from their first time kissing each other, the same one from the dreams he’d been having, and the same one that seems like an infinite repeat of the best moment of his life.  What he wouldn’t give to be constantly kissing the man in front of him when it feels like _this_ every time.

_“Emergency personnel report to Level 42, Compartment 7.”_

Steve is still slightly dazed when Bucky pulls away, but he has to be here in the moment, and quickly shakes it off.  “We have to get out of here and get after Pierce.”

“Right. Where to?” Bucky asks as he takes the knife and pistol being held out to him.

“Level 46 control room. It’ll be the top of the tower once we arrive in The Colony and Pierce will direct his invasion from there.” Steve pulls a revolver and two spare clips off one of the unconscious agents and brings it to the ready as they head back towards the door.

No sooner than he and Bucky reach the center of the walkway between compartments then there are armored SHIELD agents coming out of the access ways.

“Freeze! Drop your weapons! Now!”

Steve and Bucky stop in their tracks, five SHIELD agents now blocking their way out.

_“Prepare for gravity reversal.”_

Taking quick note of the announcement, Steve knows that they have 15 seconds before they enter near zero-G. He can use this.

Steve slowly reaches down, placing his pistol on the floor but with the barrel propped up over his right boot before slowly standing back up and watching as Bucky does the same on his left side.

“And the shield!”

Man, he hasn’t even gotten the chance to use the damned thing yet.

“Do it now!”

He reaches over the back of his head and pulls the shield off of the magnetic harness on his back, bending forward slowly once again to place the shield on the floor, this time with the back lip on top of his left boot.

One of the agents keys their radio.  “Sir, we’ve apprehended the prisoner attempting to escape from Level 42.  There’s another accomplice with him, male.”

Hrm, probably reporting in to Pierce himself in the control room.

_“Gravity reversal in five.four.three.two.one.”_

And an eerie silence falls over The Fall as it reaches its mid-point, skirting the edge of the Earth’s outer core.  Steve feels the familiar shifting of gravity as it nearly disappears and he’s now at the ready.

Bending both his knees to pull his legs up, the force of the motion brings the shield and the pistol up along with them. Capitalizing on the SHIELD agents’ lack of situational awareness at the almost complete sense of weightlessness, Steve grabs the shield and pistol, brings them to the ready in front of him, and pulls off two shots at the first agent.

The force of the shots sends the agent spinning head-over-heels backward through the air, all movement and momentum being amplified in the almost zero-G environment.

Bucky now has his pistol in hand and is firing at the other agents, the kick of the pistol’s shots being transferred back to him as he’s pushed off the walkway and into the air.

Two more shots and Steve has taken out the remaining agents that Bucky didn’t, leaving them alone in the oddly serene space. He grabs Bucky’s wrist as he turns to him, “C’mon, this way.”

Steve kicks off of a nearby handrail, the motion taking them up several floors before he grabs a walkway and maneuvers them towards one of the compartment doors.

Placing the shield back on his back and handing his pistol to Bucky, Steve starts to pry the doors open with his hands, needing to get them inside while he still can.

_“Prepare for gravity restoration.”_

Without a second to spare, Steve manages to force the doors apart, then pulls Bucky and himself inside before grabbing the handles on the inside and squeezing them shut again.

He and Bucky turn to see the slightly disturbing spectacle of a compartment full of Iron Legion mechs, all deactivated but ready to spring forth and take lives with the press of a button.

They float through the compartment and towards the outer bulkhead where Steve grabs onto the latches for the emergency escape hatch and turns them to the ‘primed’ position.

_“Attention. Emergency hatch cannot deploy in zero gravity.”_

“Steve, what are you doing?!  These doors don’t open for a reason.”

“We’ll wait until we start the upward leg and then we’ll go.”

“Go where exactly?   _Outside?_ ”

“Yeah. It’ll be fun.” Steve shrugs.

“Holy shit, Stevie.” Bucky doesn’t know if this is incredibly stupid, incredibly reckless, incredibly hot, or all the above.

_“Gravity restoration in five.four.three.two.one.”_

Now oriented toward what was once the ‘ceiling,’ Bucky and Steve drop gracefully into crouching positions as the gravity once again pulls them but in the opposing direction.

“Time to climb Buck.”  With that, Steve yanks on the black and yellow release handle on the emergency hatch, disengaging the locks only to have the door be sucked completely away from the tower by the force of the air outside.

“You’ve got to be kidding me?!” Bucky yells over the sound of the air rushing past outside.

Glancing back towards the compartment’s door, Steve sees more SHIELD agents coming to stop them. “Go, _now_!”

Bucky, takes hold of the handle at the top of the hatch and pulls himself bodily up the ladder along the outside of The Fall.

Bringing his shield and pistol to the ready again, he aims and fires at the agents attempting to pry the compartment doors open as one of them sticks the barrel of their gun through the forming gap between them.  Each shot pings harmlessly off of the vibranium shield in his hand and he unload the entire pistol's magazine into the glass window of the door.  Firing more for psychological effect, he buys himself just enough time to get outside as the agents all dive for cover away from the door’s glass window and the incoming fire.

Quickly stowing the shield and pistol, Steve literally jumps up to the first rung of the ladder and pulls himself up behind Bucky.

Bucky tries his best to ignore the blinding speed at which the maglev guides for The Fall are speeding past, the force of the wind pulling his hair back along his neck the peppering the top of his head and his face with moisture.  He’s not specifically afraid of heights, but this is literally some next-level shit that Steve has pulled.

Steve and Bucky climb the distance of several decks until they reach an exterior access area that’s labeled as Level 44.  Stepping off the ladder, they pop the hatch and both step back into the tower, thankful to be out of the whipping wind.

Once the hatch is closed, Steve taps the ear piece in his right ear. “Nat, what’s your status?”

 _“I got all the charges placed but it may not be enough to take this thing out.”_  Came her smooth reply.   _“I’m making my way up towards you guys.  Thanks for drawing the attention of all the agents onboard by the way.  You made my job hella easy.”_

“You’re welcome, Nat.” Steve answers with a small shake of his head.  “Get to one of the vehicle bays and see if you can get us a Quinjet. We’ll probably need to make a quick exit from here.”

_“Roger-roger Rogers.”_

“I love you Natalia!” Bucky croons into the ear piece while Steve shoots him a dirty look.  “What? I love Star Wars!”

_“Commencing deceleration.”_

“C’mon Buck. We need to stop Pierce.”

And with that, Steve and Bucky move to climb the last couple levels to the control room, and Pierce.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and Kudos are my life blood peeps. Take them, leave them, throw them away, just let me know if you like what you're reading or not. :)


	13. On His Head be It

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> JARVIS gets one over on Tony (on a technicality, of course), Brock gets his butt in gear, The Fall arrives in The Colony and then...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I'm just going to leave this here and go camp out in my concrete bunker for a while until the storm passes...
> 
> Once again, huge thanks to my betas ATaylor and leelalafleur for keeping my writing in line. :)

 

* * *

 

If Stark thought that barrelling downward through the Earth was nerve rattling, then he was very much _not_ pleasantly surprised when they reached The Fall’s gravity inversion area.

The Quinjet’s inertial dampeners and inertial amplifiers were the most advanced in the entire world, but they had one key need:  gravity.  An inertial dampener is capable of reducing the pull of gravity and an amplifier is capable of increasing it, but the laws of physics state that in order to do either, gravity itself has to be present.

Well physics was a fickle, if powerful, lady and her will would be had this day.  As the Quinjet passed into the gravity inversion area, Tony and Clint were hit head on with the full strength of the aircraft’s acceleration.

Clint, being the ever experienced pilot that he is, simply shrugged off the G-forces and pushed on.  Tony, however, was not so lucky.

For the better part of eight minutes, Tony rode the edge of a red-out; vision clouded red with blood rushing to his head.  It was painful but, for the first time in his life, he couldn’t actually think about anything.  So in a sense, it was like living eight minutes of being awake but with his brain turned off.

Then, just as Tony thought he was going to completely succumb to the dark ministrations of the lady physics, they pushed through the opposite end of the inversion area and the inertial dampeners kicked in once more.

 _“Welcome back, sir.”_ comes JARVIS’ tinny but measured greeting.

“Barton, remind me to _never_ let you do that again.” Stark complains, head lolling to the side. This whole thing had been a bad idea from the get-go, but skirting the edge of the Earth’s outer core, while accelerating, seemed to take the cake.

“Aww, man. That was the best part!”

Tony just rolls his eyes.  “J, how far behind The Fall are we now?”

_“I estimate that we will arrive in The Colony only three minutes after Tower 1.”_

“Okay good, I can work with that.”  The engineer shakes his head, clearing out the last of the red from his vision as he sets back to work on his console. “J, I want you to run my lockdown protocol on Tower 1 as soon as it’s docked in The Colony. That should at least slow them down and buy us a few more minutes.”

_“Very good, sir.”_

“Stark, I’m not sure what you’ve got cooking up in that genius brain of yours,” comments Clint. “But I doubt Pierce’s little army is going to have a hard time breaking out of that Tower and starting in on their reign of terror.”

“I know, I know, geez,” comes Tony’s reply as he runs his hands through his hair.  “We’re going to have to take out the whole Tower and I don’t think the dozen or so grenades spider woman has are going to cut it. I built that thing to fall through the _Earth_ so I’m pretty sure it can eat a couple grenades and not even hiccup.”

“Well then, what do you suggest…”

“I don’t _know_ , alright!” the engineer’s arms fall limply at his sides. “I don’t fucking know...”

Tony realizes that he’s only been thinking 5 minutes ahead of himself and his brain has completely lost traction.  There’s no end-game, no solution, no bright light at the end of this tunnel.  For the first time in his life since the death of his parents he feels completely powerless again.

Howard Stark was most definitely _not_ known for his A+ parenting skills. In fact, Tony would probably rank them in the range of D- with an additional F for effort (or lack thereof).  Sure, he never wished for his father to be killed and, in truth, really just wanted the man to show him one single iota of affection or pride.  But Howard never did.  And now, realizing that he’s exhausted every trick in his bag, he’s as powerless as he was back when his father was looming over him, scrutinizing and belittling everything he touched.

“Look Stark,” begins Barton from the pilot’s seat, “you’re a builder and thinker.  You build and you engineer and you solve problems and you think and you apply all that brainpower and so far you’ve always come out on top.  But sometimes, you have to _fight_ your way out.  When you can’t build and you can’t think, you _fight_.”

“Well if you’re suggesting I get out and _punch_ The Fall, you’re going to be sorely disappointed at the outcome of that.”

“No, you ass.  What do we have to _fight_ with?”

Fight?  How do you fight a giant elevator?  What the hell does Barton even mean by fighting the damn thing?  It’s not like this thing is armed anyway…

Wait, yes it is.  Tony isn’t stupid.  He’s armed every aircraft he’s ever built and this one is _no_ exception.

Fighting.  That’s only half the answer. He doesn’t have to fight it, he has to figure out _how_ to fight it.

“Damn Barton, I think I love you.”

“Yeah, well don’t get used to it. The feeling isn’t mutual.  Anymore…” Clint smirks.

“Whatever. You know you still love me for my aircraft’s body.”

“Okay fine, you have me there,” he replies while rolling his eyes in mock defeat.

“Options, options, options…”  Tony starts taking stock of what they have to work with.  “Okay, so, we have a gattling gun…”

“Pea shooter. Next.”

“Twelve high-velocity air-to-air missiles…”

“Usable, but we’d have to get creative.”

“And a trunction-implosion missile.”

“That’s not, wait, a _WHAT_?!”

“Trunction-implosion missile.” Tony deadpans.

“Why the _fuck_ would you put a trunction-implosion missile on a Quinjet?! This isn’t a bomber!”

“Why the fuck _wouldn’t_ you put a trunction-implosion missile on a Quinjet and turn it _into_ a bomber?!”

Okay, Clint can kind of see how that might make sense. _Might_. “You know what, I’m just going to be thankful we have one at the moment and not look a gift horse in the mouth right now.”

“Good man,” Tony smiles.

For the less technically minded, the concept behind trunction-implosion devices is simple. Or at least it is in the mind of Tony Stark.  Start with a conventional explosive such as a high-yield standard combustion bomb. Then, put into its center a magnesium-tungsten casing surrounding seven nitrogen-bound Pym Particles (a generous gift from Hank Pym which the man had refused to share with his father but somehow trusted Tony with, of all people… go figure).  Now, when the explosive goes off, it will take exactly three seconds for the combustion reaction to eat through the magnesium-tungsten casing and evaporate out the nitrogen to allow the Pym Particles to react with one another and clean up the mess.

Quite simply, there’s a large explosion followed by all the damage and collateral being collapsed down into a miniature singularity the size of the tip of a sewing needle.  Huge boom; vacuum cleaner effect; nothing left.

 _“Sir, may I point out that while a trunction-implosion missile_ would _be effective at crippling or destroying The Fall, it would need to be_ inside _to do so.”_

“Damn it JARVIS, who asked you to be so smart?”

_“I believe you did, sir. When you created me.”_

“Touché, tin man. Touché.”

_“Indeed, sir.”_

Tony shakes his head.  “When you manage to get one over on someone J, don’t be a putz about it. Play it cool.”

_“Like you, sir?”_

Stark throws his head back into the headrest while Clint smirks unabashedly from the front seat. “I swear to God, I hate my life…”

 

* * *

 

The Fall’s gravity inversion leaves Brock in a momentary state of complete disassociation.

His mind has failed him, his leadership has failed him, and now gravity has failed him.

Once it starts, he lets his body float off the floor, allowing himself to go completely insensate in the maintenance corridor. He can see his pistol floating a couple yards away, lazily turning through the air in the microgravity.

It’s liberating, allowing your mind to go elsewhere while the entire world just floats along with it. Peaceful nothingness.

But, instead of a state of euphoria emerging from his mindless and groundless state, Brock feels something else: his drive.

No, not his sex drive this time.  His core drive:  his true sense of self.  That part of him that is Brock Rumlow and the part of him that says to _act_.

He’s not a man with idle hands, one who lets others act for him.  No, Brock is a man who acts himself.  One who puts his own hands into motion and moves out.

Know what? This pity party is over. It’s time to act.

_“Gravity restoration in five, four, three, two, one.”_

Righting himself to the ‘new’ floor, Brock lands on his feet as the familiar tug of gravity once again kicks in. This is it.

Moving over to pick his pistol up from the floor and holster it, he now has his destination set in his mind and knows what he has to do.  It most certainly is time to act.

 

* * *

 

Steve and Bucky make quick work of the few intervening levels between themselves and the control room.

Coming upon the final door that will bring them face to face with Alexander Pierce, Steve stops short and turns to his husband.

“Ready?”

Bucky gives him a knowing smile. “To the end of the line, pal.”

They each move up to either side of the door, bracing in entry positions, Bucky’s hand hovering over the door’s controls.

Steve gives a silent countdown with his left hand.

Three. Two. One.

The side of Bucky’s fist taps the controls and Steve moves into the room immediately, gun drawn as he takes in the space.  A large bay of windows forms the far wall of the room, control displays and readouts on glass panels in front of them.  The room is simple and functional, designed less for day-to-day comforts and more for simple monitoring and occasional staffing only when needed.

Pierce, sans the bulletproof vest, is standing in front of the floor-to-ceiling glass displays while holding a phone in his hand.  There’s only one Strike agent in the room with him and no other personnel in sight.

“Agent Rogers, Agent Barnes, glad to see you could make it,” Pierce says through a wry smirk.

‘Easy enough,’ thinks Bucky, ‘there’s just two of them to take.’

Then, as he brings his pistol up and gets a bead on on the Strike agent guarding Pierce, he hears the sounds of electricity sparking and a pained groan.  A stun rod.

“Steve!”  He barely has time to turn towards where the Captain is falling to the ground when he feels pain erupt across the right side of his body, accompanied by the same sound of an electric arc.

They both hit the deck hard, dropping their weapons in the process.  Four additional Strike agents are now in the room, two holding the offending stun rods while the other two are flanking Pierce’s original bodyguard.

Steve’s head is on fire.  The residual shocks of the stun rod leaving his hands a twitchy mess, unable to even reach out towards where his pistol has fallen from his grip.  Bucky is really not much better off, a pained expression playing across his face from the jolt he’s received.

The two agents behind them step forward and kick their guns out of reach before reaching down themselves to haul both Steve and Bucky to their knees.

Satisfied that things have transpired satisfactorily, Pierce addresses them once again.  “You two were the best and brightest that SHIELD had to offer.  Too bad that just wasn’t good enough.”

“Yeah well, we aim to please,” spits Steve through shock-clenched teeth.

Pierce continues unfazed, “You know Captain, my enemies are your enemies: disorder, chaos, war.”  He holds his phone up in front of him as a means of illustration.  “What if you could provide total security to all the people of our nation?  And you could do it with just the flip of a switch, would you?”

“Not if it’s _your_ switch.”

“Huh,” Pierce tilts his head inquisitively.  “I can bring complete peace and security to over a billion people by sacrificing less than 10 million.  It’s the next step.”

“It’s wrong and you know it!” Steve replies through his expression of anger.  This man treats human life like a game of numbers.  People are not a cost/benefit analysis on a spreadsheet. They’re _people_.

 _“Prepare for arrival.”_ comes The Fall’s automated announcement.

“It looks like we’re here.”  Pierce turns to look out the windows.

Steve and Bucky can see for themselves as The Fall emerges from it’s through-Earth maglev tube, rising smoothly from the ground.  The Colony is bathed in white, early morning fog.  It sits thick and solid over the whole of Sydney.

As Tower 1 reaches its stopping point, they can all see that the thick layer of fog is nearly deep enough to cover The Fall and it’s terminals, but not quite.

It’s strange, the view from the control room windows makes it look as though they’re now sitting just above a layer of white clouds, the tops of buildings poking through sporadically while the sun plays off of their glass facades.  Bucky thinks for a moment that perhaps this is what some artist’s rendition of heaven could look like.  Too bad he’s only now seeing it as the world is about to descend into hell.

The room shudders slightly when the locks of the terminal latch onto Tower 1, sealing them in place and readying the terminal for debarkation.  The door behind them clicks open and shut again, admitting another armored body into the room.

Bucky turns, his expression falling as recognition dawns upon him. Brock Rumlow.

Pierce turns from the window. “Ah, Agent Rumlow, you’re here.”

Brock doesn’t acknowledge the man, simply keeping his expression neutral and impassive.

“Captain, as much as it pains me,” Pierce addresses Steve once again, “I think it’s about time we got rid of those memories. For good this time.”

Bucky’s chest tightens and he wants to move. Wants to spring into action.  He wants to throw himself bodily over Steve and protect him; take the bullet for him. But there’s the muzzle of a rifle pressed to the back of his neck and he knows, he just knows, there’s nothing he can do.

“They all kept saying you were the best, but you fell just short.” There’s a smile on Pierce’s face but there’s no humor in it.  And if there is, it’s certainly only there for his own sadistic enjoyment.  “Rumlow, if you would?”

Brock steps up behind Steve, pulling his pistol from the holster at his side while cocking the hammer back for emphasis.

Bucky looks over to Rumlow and hopes that, in that single moment, the man may just recover enough of his humanity to spare the most important thing in the world to him.  Bucky can’t lose Steve, and he’s praying that Brock won’t do it…

Steve feels a hard hand grip his left shoulder from behind and Brock’s voice addressing him. “For what it’s worth Cap, I’m sorry…”

Brock steels himself for what he has to do as he raises his pistol.

Bucky looks on as the expression on his face changes from one of fear and pleading to one of complete and utter disbelief.

Letting his arm do the guiding for him, Brock locks his elbow and pulls the trigger twice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What do you call an aircraft storage facility that's built into a vertical rock face?  
> ...  
> ...  
> ...  
> A cliff-hangar!
> 
> Okay, so bad aviation puns aside, yeah I did that. I left you guys hanging and #sorrynotsorry.
> 
> But, NOBODY PANIC!!!
> 
> You'll see. I'm telling you that you'll see. :)


	14. Now means NOW!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Escapes have to be made, Fury does something dramatic, and Steve is kinda left hanging (but only for a second or two).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, mucho thanks to ATaylor and leelalafleur for keeping me in line with my tenses and punctuation. :D

 

* * *

 

Bucky’s mind froze.  It wasn’t as though time slowed down, but rather time itself simply stopped.  Caught in the moment where he was about to have the love of his life, the man he’d come to depend on, to call his better half, be torn away from him finally and permanently.

In that state of frozen, abject fear, only a single heartbeat managed to pass as time once again resumed its steady onward march.

Looking on, Bucky watched as the pistol in Rumlow’s hand passed the point at which it would be pointing at Steve’s head and instead of stopping, continued upward still until it found its true target.

When the three shots rang out from the barrel of Brock’s gun, the world was changed for the better. Finally.

Pierce’s chest heaved as two of the bullets tore through him cleanly, through and through, while splitting and cracking the glass display behind him. The man momentarily looked confused, then shocked, then mildly placid as the actions of the past second-and-a-half registered in his mind.

His body fell backward through the glass display, sending shards and pieces of electrostatic film crashing all over the floor; he still had his phone gripped in his hand when his back hit the floor.  Taking his final breath, he weakly gasped out his last words.

“You’ll see. You’ll...all...see…” and he pressed the glowing red icon in the center of the phone’s screen before it slid from his hand and onto the floor.

As Pierce was falling so was the agent guarding him, having taken the third bullet from Rumlow’s pistol to the head.

The room was left in a bereft state of stunned silence. Brock’s face was impassive, Bucky’s brain was floating off somewhere in la-la land, Steve’s shoulders were hunched in relief and the two Strike agents looked confused as all get-out.

It was Brock who spoke first, addressing the other Strike agents. “You guys have five seconds to get out before I shoot your asses too.”

The two men hesitate for a moment while glancing between themselves. Do they risk trying to take out Rumlow?  If they do, one of them for sure dies while the other one likely lives. Neither of them wants to die, at least not today.

“NOW!”

And just like that, the two remaining agents beat a hasty retreat from the room like bats out of hell.

After the doors clicked closed behind the retreating agents, Brock holsters his gun and holds out his hand to help Steve up.

Before Steve has a chance to say anything Brock speaks first. “Look Cap, I’m not looking for a thank you. I’m just sorry it took me this long to do the right thing.”

Once Bucky was standing he put a reassuring hand on Steve’s shoulder.  “Brock, you’re still a dick in my book, but now at least you’re not half as big of a dick as I thought you were before.”

“Thanks?” Brock raises an eyebrow in reply. “You guys have an exit plan to get out of here now that Pierce is done for?”

“Actually…” Steve begins.

That’s when all the status lights in the room change from white to emergency red.

_“Attention passengers. The Fall has been placed in emergency lockdown. Please remain seated and await instructions from emergency personnel.”_ came The Fall’s measured synthetic announcement.

“Okay, yeah, never mind.”

_“So scratch the ‘stealing a Quinjet’ idea boys. Everything just went into full lockdown, including the vehicle bays.”_ Natasha’s voice cracked over Steve’s earpiece.

“What about the Legionnaires?”

_“Booting up and about to start their murderous rampage through The Colony.”_

“Damn it! We were too late…”

_“Hey, I took a look at their targeting protocols after I was done setting those grenades. They’re only set to target citizens of The Colony so we should be safe.”_

“How does that help us?”

_“It means we should be able to get out of here without them trying to stop us.  Anyway, I’m almost to you guys now, see you in a minute.”_

“Right.” Steve turns to Brock and Bucky. “Nat says that the Legion mechs shouldn’t target us since we’re UFB citizens but we still have to figure out a way off of this thing.”

“We need to get up top,” Brock says quickly.

“Lets go then!” Bucky points towards the exit door and the group quickly jogs out of the room.

Keying his comm, Steve addresses Natasha, “Nat, we’re heading up top. Meet us there.”

_“Roger that, Rogers.”_

Another voice sounds over the comm, _“Pile up kiddies, your bus is here.”_

Steve looks surprised when he answers. “Stark, is that you?!”

_“Bird boy is here too, don’t forget him.”_

_“It’s Hawkeye!”_ he hears Clint yell from the background.

“Where are you guys?”

_“Heading up the maintenance shaft. Should be there in a couple minutes.”_

“All of Pierce’s Legionnaires are already active, we don’t have time to wait.”

Steve, Brock and Bucky all burst out of the access door to the upper landing decks of Tower 1. As they do, they see Natasha making her way out of the access door on the opposite side.  From off in the distance, they can all hear the sounds of air-raid sirens going off throughout the city, warning the citizens of the impending invasion and instructing everyone to seek shelter in emergency bunkers.

The four meet in the middle where Nat gives Rumlow a wary once-over. “What’s he doing here? Didn’t he try to kill you both; multiple times?”

“Long story,” Bucky answers.

“Nat, set off the charges.” Steve orders.

“Rogers, in case you haven’t noticed, we’re still on this tub.”

“And any second now there’s going to be thousands of armed mechs breaking out of here and going after innocent civilians.” Steve’s jaw is set in his ‘I will be obeyed’ command expression. “Set them off.”

Natasha pulls the detonator out of one of her belt pockets and turns to look at the fog-encased city around them, morning sunlight still reflecting off of the tops of the skyscrapers around them. “Well it’s a hell of a way to go.  Couldn’t ask for much of a better view though,” she says, turning to the others.

_“Glad you like the view Romanoff but it's about to get a whole lot better,”_ comes Fury’s voice over their comms.

The four of them look out towards the city in front of them as the massive shape of a SHIELD helicarrier rises out of the fog, casting off the white cloud-like layers with ease as its massive repulsor engines hold it aloft.

“Fury, you son-of-a-bitch,” says Steve with relief in his voice.

_“Ooh hoo, you kiss Barnes with that mouth?”_ Fury quips in return.

Just to prove a point, Bucky grabs the back of Steve’s neck and pulls him down for an impassioned and tongue-filled kiss that goes on for several seconds longer than it really needs to in order to prove their point.  But, neither of them care and they both enjoy it for as long as it lasts.

“Actually Nick, they’re kissing right now just to spite you.” Natasha deadpans.

_“I don’t know why I even bother.”_ They can all practically hear Fury’s eyes rolling as he answers.

Once they finally break away from their kiss, Steve keys his comm again. “Nick, you need to take this thing out. Now.”

“We’ll send Wilson over in a Quinjet to get you and then…”

“There’s no time Nick. You need to open fire on this thing.”

“Cap, I’m  not going to open fire while you guys…”

Steve is completely calm when he replies while looking Bucky directly in the eyes. “Do it Nick. Do it _now_.”

Bucky gives him a slight nod, knowing what has to be done and why.

Aboard the helicarrier, Fury looks away from his command consoles and glances towards where Maria Hill is standing at her station.  He gives her a single nod before turning back toward his displays.

Knowing what Fury means, Hill turns to where Sam is sitting at the gunnery control console. “Wilson, weapons free.”

“Well shit…” replies Sam while looking at the display in front of him.  Grasping the joystick in the console, he nudges it to the right so as to bring the the carrier’s targeting systems in line with Tower 1’s center point and pulls the trigger to lock in the coordinates. “Weapons free.”

Outside, the four SHIELD agents look on as the helicarrier’s massive triple-barrel guns slowly swing to point at the tower that they’re now standing upon.

Steve wraps his arms around Bucky’s shoulders and presses their foreheads together before whispering to him. “I’m sorry Buck.”

Closing his eyes, Bucky smiles. “I’m not. I love you.”

“I love you too,” Steve replies in a whisper. Speaking up and turning his head slightly, “Nat, do it now.”

The spectacle of destruction begins.

Natasha keys  the detonator for her mag grenades as the helicarrier’s guns open fire.  As the carrier’s shells tear into the center of Tower 1, detonations resound through the frame as the lower levels are blown out by the shock.  Another round of fire belches forth from the carrier’s guns and slams into the side of the tower, jolting all four of them unsteadily on their feet as they hear glass and metal being shredded, bent, shattered, and destroyed below them.

Then, over the noise of their impending demise, they hear the sound of Tony Stark’s personal Quinjet as it rockets up and out of the maintenance shaft in the center of The Fall.

_“I can’t leave you kids alone for two minutes without you guys blowing up my stuff. Only_ I’m _allowed to blow up my stuff!”_

“Hey Stark, how about a ride out of here?” says Natasha from where she’s crouching on the landing pad.

_“Get to the top terrace above the pad, and get ready to jump!”_ Clint comes in clear over the noise of the tower’s destruction.

“You heard him, move!” she says to the other three as they all jump into action.

The four of them hastily climb the access ladders to the upper terrace above them as one of the four locks shreds itself from the strain of the tower’s impending doom.

Tower 1 lists slightly now with one of its locks destroyed, causing the opposite side to impact the terminal while shattering glass and concrete on several levels.

Clint swings the Quinjet around and into position over Tower 1 and tries to bring the back as close to the terrace level as possible.

Tony is up and out of his seat in a flash, slamming the button to lower the aircraft’s rear ramp with his fist as he grabs a hand hold just inside the door.

“Get us lower Hawkbat!” he calls over his shoulder.

“I’m _trying_ but my landing area is kind of busy blowing up at the moment! And it’s Hawk _EYE_!”

Tony can see the four agents below them and just barely out of reach. “Lower, NOW!”

“Working on it, you pompous ass!”

Clint manages to get the Quinjet a couple meters lower and just barely within reach of the terrace.

Steve sees his opportunity and takes action. Moving behind Bucky and Natasha, he grabs them by the back of their belts before taking two large steps forward and bodily throwing them at the Quinjet’s open ramp.

“Holy shit!” gasps Rumlow as he looks on.

Nat and Bucky hurtle several meters forward through the air and into the back of the Quinjet.  Natasha’s landing is graceful as she tucks and rolls into the impact to bring herself up to a standing position next to Stark. Bucky, on the other hand, catches his foot on the textured surface of the upper portion of the ramp and slams down on his side with a pained “Ow, goddamnit Steve!”

Steve turns to Brock, “Your turn.”

“You’re _not_ throwing me!”

“It’s either that or I can _kick_ you…”

Brock shoots him a dirty look but Steve simply smirks in return. “Fine, get it over with.”

Bracing Brock by his lower back and and the back of his belt, he repeats the same motion as earlier and throws the man forward and into the Quinjet.

Landing deftly on his feet, Brock manages a landing jog on the ramp and steps up before turning around towards where Steve is still standing below.

Steve takes several steps back to give himself space for a running start and then takes off at a full sprint towards the open bay of the aircraft.

Just as he jumps and steps off the terrace, an explosion erupts from the vehicle bay directly below them sending pieces of the segmented doors off in every direction.  One small piece impacts the bottom of the Quinjet and jolts the aircraft upward just enough.

Just enough that Steve’s going to miss the back ramp entirely.

Steve knows he’s going to miss.  He can see Bucky’s expression shift on his face as the ramp moves just far enough away that he won’t be able to grab it with either hand.

This is it. This is where the journey ends.

Bucky dives forward, landing on his stomach as he reaches over the edge of the ramp.  Rumlow is somehow right next to him as they both reach down.

Miraculously, they manage to each grab one of Steve’s hands as they narrowly miss the edge of the ramp.

Digging his feet into the textured surface of the ramp for purchase, he looks towards Brock, “Pull damnit!”

Brock and Bucky both heave upwards together, bringing Steve along with them.

Natasha turns toward the cockpit and yells at Clint, “They’re in, let’s go!”

“Not yet!” Stark says from beside her as he dashes towards the copilot’s seat.

“Stark we need to get out of here!”

“Two damned seconds!”

Tony’s fingers fly over the console as he looks for the specific task he needs to complete.  Weapons systems, missile bay doors, open doors, emergency release, release code. Select trunction-implosion missile, set detonation timer, timer at 4 seconds, set, release Yes/No?

Hitting the final release button, Tony yells at Clint, “Go, now!”

The missile bay door on the bottom of the Quinjet splits open and the craft’s trunction-implosion missile is disengaged and released like a bomb.  As the Quinjet rockets away from The Fall and towards the helicarrier ahead, the missile drops into the explosion-wracked vehicle bay, pinging and bouncing off of wrecked pads, Quinjets, and scaffolding as it continues to descend further into the tower.

Four seconds later, with everyone except Clint watching, a massive fireball blossoms into view in the middle of Tower 1.  Flames gout from broken sections of the tower’s hull while glass and pieces of destroyed Iron Legion mechs spew forth for several seconds.

Then, in the same space of time in which that destruction was wrought, it all falls in on itself.  The Pym-reaction at the core of the missile implodes and every bit of flame, glass, metal, concrete, and anything caught in the way is sucked into the missile’s microsingularity before disappearing entirely. Not surprisingly, there is literally nothing left of Tower 1 or its contents.

Steve slumps to the deck next to Bucky and lets his head fall to the man’s shoulder. “We did it. We really did it.”

Tony himself has gone completely limp on the floor of the aircraft, limbs sprawled out every which way.  “Yay, hooray for us. Good job guys. Let’s just not come in tomorrow. Let’s just all take a day…”

“I second that motion,” Natasha adds from one of the jump seats.

“Have any of you tried shawarma?  I have no idea what it is but I wanna try it. I heard someone mention it in passing one time. Do they have shawarma in The Colony? I’m sure they have shawarma in The Colony.” Tony rambles from the floor.

“Yeah, they have shawarma,” says Steve.  “There’s this place a couple blocks from…” His voice trails off as he looks at the floor.

Rumlow slides down to the deck with his back against one of the seats and simply says, “Yeah, that place.”

A deafening silence falls over all of them as Clint brings the Quinjet in to land on the upper deck of the helicarrier.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Couldn't leave you guys hanging for too long there. Guess that means I do have a soul capable of empathy. :P
> 
> As always, comments, kudos, and questions are my life blood. Send them or don't, either way. :)


	15. Rekollections from Negative to Positive

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve dreams again (but it's better this time), the band breaks up (for now), and our semivillain-cum-hero gets a second chance at a new start with an old friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big thanks once again to my betas, ATaylor and leelalafleur!

 

* * *

 

“Wake up.”

Flashes of light.  Disjointed sounds.  Cold concrete and a rubber mat.  The taste of iron, blood settling on the tongue.

“Wake up.”

Upside down.  No, right side up.  His mind is spinning as the room begins to right itself.  There’s an upturned hospital bed behind him, monitors and equipment knocked over around the room, and most of the lights in the ceiling are blown out or shattered.  There are flashes of red light outside the door, down the hall.  Alarms ache dully in the back of his mind.  Dirt, grime, and grit.  This is all so foreign but painfully familiar at the same time.

“Wake up.  I’ve cut the power.”

There’s a face in front of him.  He wants to reach out and touch that face, hold it close to his chest and breathe in the smell of home?  His home, their home, the only home he’ll ever want.

“We’ve got about ten seconds before that alarm brings the entire Strike team down here.”

There’s the grip of a pistol being pressed into his right hand.  9mm, Berretta 90Two.  He’d recognize it a mile away. It’s his favorite and it always has been.

“Here, take this.  We need to go, now!”

He disengages the safety and racks the slide back.  It moves back and clicks forward and he feels ready.  He’s got his six. He’s always got his six.

“Okay, go!” he says standing quickly and making for the door.

“We need to move” says the person while ducking out the door into the hall.

There are bodies littering the hall, all of which are fully dressed in tactical gear sporting the same gray eagle emblem on patches and weapons.  He stoops down and grabs two 9mm magazines off the nearest body, sliding them into the pockets of his sweats.

As they step over bodies and round several corners, they come to a reinforced door that is slightly ajar.  A mere second later there are bullets ricocheting off the walls as more troopers in tactical gear appear from a hallway back the way they’ve come from.  His companion gets off two double-handed shots, summarily dropping two of the oncoming troopers.  Two shots; two kills.  That’s his man, always clean and efficient.

“Go!” he yells at him, pushing his shoulders towards the slightly ajar door.

He steps inside, pulling his partner with him while firing several shots to distract the oncoming troopers.  Managing to slide the steel door closed and key the electronic pad to locked without any bullets getting through, he shoots the pad just for good measure.  That will delay the troopers in getting through.

His companion grabs his wrist and pulls him toward the back of the room where there are several pillars that provide cover along with a locked, sealed security window.  As they both round one of the pillars, several bullets fly through the small window in the room’s steel door, pinging off of the walls harmlessly. He fires several shots back to keep their pursuers guessing, emptying the mag.

Taking a momentary breather, he drops the spent magazine from his pistol and fishes a new one out of his pocket, sliding it home in the grip and releasing the slide.

It’s sudden, but he realizes that he has a hand on his cheek.  It’s dirty and slightly worn but it’s perfectly warm and comforting all the same.

“Hey” his companion says.  Blue-gray eyes are locked on his with an intensity that fills him with longing. “I love you.”

And just like before, that same hand is on the back of his neck and his lips are being crushed against those his partner’s.

The kiss is freezing and burning.  It’s intense and mild.  It’s hard and passionate but still soft and almost bereft.  He will forever want to live in this single moment.

As their lips part, he’s once again staring into those storm-tinted irises.  His mouth goes dry but he manages to reply. “I love you too.”

More bullets are flying through the window and now he’s shielding both of their heads with his left arm, foreheads pressed together and facing the side of the room.

When the shots cease, he snatches a quick glance at the security window and makes a snap decision.  Turning around he levels his pistol at the locks and fires off two shots, dropping both of the locks.

Turning to his partner, “We need to get out of here. Go!”

He once again faces the small window in the door, aiming his shots carefully to keep the troopers on the other side occupied.

As he faces the window again, he moves to help his companion, using his right hand to help them out the window by their left.  There is a canal beneath them but the drop looks to be around two floors and there is a concrete ledge at the water’s edge that could prove a problem.

He turns back toward the door and empties the magazine to buy them a few more seconds to escape.  With his mag spent, he drops the pistol and turns back to the window so he can get his other hand involved to help.

All the action, all the sensations, and he feels completely powerless to change any of it or take any action of his own. But that’s okay. A peace settles over him as he feels secure in the knowledge that this will all be okay in the end.  He knows it will all work out for the best.

There’s a slow humming, whining sound rising in volume from behind him and he recognizes the sound of a restraint rifle charging up.  A split second later and he’s got magnetic binders wrapping around his upper body, pinning his left arm to his side.  He’s not getting out of this, but his partner will.

“Go! Just let go!” he says.

“No, no! I won’t let go!”

“I’ll find you! GO!”

He feels the strength of the magnetics on the binders pulling him back towards the door.  He loses his footing as he’s pulled off the ground and is now floating in the magnetic field created between him and the door, held in place only by the hand that’s still in his own.

“No! No! Please!  I’m not leaving you behind!”

“I’ll find you.” It’s barely a whisper now, like a prayer being said at the end of the day before sleeping.  He relaxes his fingers and feels himself being pulled through the air away from the window as he lets a smile creep onto his face.

When his back makes contact with the door and the loose glass in the small window frame digs into his shoulder the entire world goes silent and white.

 

* * *

 

Steve bolts up in bed, sweat damp on his brow and his heart racing.  Racing, but not in fear this time.

As the world comes into focus, he can see that the sky is clear outside and sunlight is beginning to peek in through the newly repaired window.  There are clothes folded and placed on the dresser to the right, boots lined up at the foot of the bed, and plates from last night’s dinner cleaned and neatly stacked on the counter.  A SHIELD Strike uniform is draped over a rack on the side of the bed and there’s a warm body slowly stirring next to him.

“Hey babe, you okay?” comes a gravelly voice as strong arms wrap around his waist from behind.

“Yeah, I’m more than okay,” Steve replies while smiling.  “Definitely more than okay.”

Steve turns in Bucky’s grip and pushes lightly on the man’s shoulders, gently guiding them back down onto the smooth gray sheets. Getting his own arms around the back of his husband’s neck, he closes his eyes and plants a soft, quiet, and chaste kiss to his lips.

He’s rewarded with a smile from Bucky. “I’ve missed this so much, Stevie.”

“Me too, Buck,” Steve smiles in return. “Me too.”

“Ugh, get a room you two.”

Steve and Bucky look over to the large couch in the small apartment’s seating area. A shock of spiky brown hair is the only thing visibly peeking through from under the lumpy roll of blanket and human currently occupying the cushions.

Bucky is the one who replies. “We _have_ a room, Rumlow. You just happen to be in it with us.”

“Why the fuck did I get stuck having to come back to this place anyway?”

It’s then that Natasha exits the bathroom and pads over to the couch barefoot.  Assessing the best position based on the lumps that are Brock Rumlow, she decides to sit approximately where his upper thighs should be.

“Ooofff! Get off me, Romanoff!”

“Oh hush, I’m like a buck-thirty; you’re fine. And you’re here because Fury seemed disinclined to potentially finding your corpse stashed in a gear locker on the helicarrier, because ‘someone’ decided to take you out for all the stunts you pulled while chasing down these two.” Natasha answers while making a generally hand-wavy gesture towards the bed.

“I fucking hate all three of you,” is Brock’s slightly muffled reply from under the blanket.

“No you don’t,” she continues without missing a beat. “Rogers is your hero, Barnes is your frenemy, and I’ve decided to adopt you as my annoying younger brother that I have to keep in line from time to time.”

“That’s kind of a fucked up family dynamic, you know?”

“The best ones always are.”

Natasha stands from using Rumlow as her cushion and looks to Steve and Bucky.  “I’m headed back to the carrier here in a few.  Fury has officially given you two the week off and I think Stark is planning to drop by this afternoon because you still owe him shawarma, apparently.”

“Hmmm,” starts Bucky while looking at his husband. “I’m spending every moment of that week getting reacquainted with every single inch of Steve,” he wags his eyebrows seductively. “And I mean _every_ inch.”

Steve is hit with a full body flush as he looks down at his hands and tries not to look embarrassed. “As long as we still go to the gym, Buck.”

“Oh, I _insist_ on still going to the gym, actually. Gotta keep every inch of you, and me, fresh for exploration,” his husband finishes with a wink.

“Ew, gross you two.” Turning back towards the couch Natasha continues, “and Rumlow, your SHIELD escort will be stopping by later this morning to pick you up. Fury’s transferring you to SHIELD’s North Sector office to get you away from the fall-out in London.”

“Fine, whatever,” and Brock pulls the blanket over his head completely.

With that decided, Natasha heads back to the second couch that’s been placed along the side of the dining room to grab her bit of gear and stash it into a backpack before heading out.

Steve plops back down on the bed, letting his arms fall loosely above his head. Bucky takes this as an invitation to drape himself over Steve’s bare chest, resting his head in the crook of his neck.

It’s nice, Steve thinks, to be able to do this.  It’s nice to just be able to relax and enjoy a morning in with the love of his life, without despotic politicians plotting to commit genocide or an army of mechanical killers about to end a nation.

For several minutes, Bucky traces circles with his index finger on Steve’s chest where the muscles of his shoulder meet his pectorals. In turn, Steve lowers his right arm so he can run his fingers through Bucky’s hair, scratching down his scalp and neck at intervals.

Simple things like this remind them both how far they’ve come. How hard they’ve worked to have this life together.

A few more minutes later, after reveling in the ease of the morning, Steve’s stomach begins to object to its currently empty state. “You guys want breakfast?”

“Mhmmm,” is Bucky’s lazy reply.

“Coffee,” comes the request from the lumpy blanket roll-slash-couch.

“On it.” Steve plants a quick kiss to Bucky’s forehead before extracting himself from the bed and making for the kitchen.

The temporary living arrangements they had to endure for the past three days were much to the chagrin of all involved but Fury had deemed it necessary for their own safety. Rumlow was likely to be the target of disgruntled SHIELD agents, Steve and Bucky needed to leave the limelight and Romanoff had cover to maintain.

Unfortunately, Fury was also a little short on safe houses to offer in Sydney so “Evan” and Brock’s apartment became the only fallback. At least Fury had the wherewithal to have the busted window replaced and the bullet holes in the wall patched on the first day.

Brock had claimed the couch to give Steve and Bucky the bed and Natasha was content to camp out on a second couch. Brock had also erased the stored photos from the refrigerator display immediately upon walking in so as to not make a conversation point out of them; Steve was thankful for the consideration the man seemed to be showing if only for the fact that it would keep it from being an issue with his husband.

Steve begins breaking out items in the kitchen and starts on a pot of coffee for all of them. By the time the coffee is finished several minutes later, he’s already begun on scrambling eggs and pouring batter in a small waffle iron.

The smell of coffee was what eventually brought Bucky out of bed and padding over to investigate, while Brock managed to extricate himself from his blanket burrito to claim a seat at the dining table.

Pouring himself and Brock a cup each, Bucky brought the mugs of coffee to the table before handing one over and sitting down opposite him.

“So do you know the agent that’s coming to pick you up?” Bucky asked over the rim of his mug.

“Romanoff set it up but she wouldn’t say who she got to come, just that she vouched for them and that I’d be safe while they got me to North Sector,” Brock replies while staring intently at the coffee in his mug.  He’d been avoiding eye contact with Bucky for the past three days and even though the man seemed to be acting friendly enough, he didn’t think he could handle the anger that would surely be boiling just beneath the surface.

After the events leading up to Steve’s memory recall and Pierce’s attempted invasion of The Colony, Brock had had it with fighting. Following that, once face-to-face with Nick Fury, he’d requested to be immediately removed as the lead of Strike Alpha and placed in some other position; Fury had never been happier to oblige.

Just then there was a strong knock followed by a phrase being called through the door. “Courier for hire.”

Steve looks up from the pan where he’s scrambling eggs, “Looks like your ride is early.”

“I got it.” Rumlow stands to open the door and, upon opening it, is unable to hide the surprise at who he sees there.

Standing at the entry to the apartment is a man who seems to be every part Steve’s equal in height and size if only just an inch or two greater in both departments. He has straight blonde hair that runs down to the bottom of his ears with the top portion pulled back into a simple ‘warrior tail’ and piercing blue-green eyes.  His face has the beginnings of a thick blonde beard but is kept short and neatly trimmed.  The nordic features are striking and the symbol on his gray earned shirt, barely visible from under the dark red jacket he’s wearing, bears the outline of a simple hammer with the norse symbol for the letter ‘T’ in the center.

“Odinson?!” Rumlow manages to croak out.

The man’s face lights up at the recognition. Bucky looks over to Steve and the other man simply shrugs in reply, not recognizing the newcomer.

“Agent Rumlow, it is marvelous to be seeing you again!” Odinson replies, his expression a huge full-face smile while firmly gripping Brock on the shoulder with a hand comparable in size to a bear’s paw.  “What is that magnificent smell?”

“We’re about to have breakfast, if you’d like to join us,” Steve calls from the kitchen.

The blonde demi-giant gives Brock’s shoulder a strong squeeze before moving into the apartment fully.  Upon seeing the other two occupants of the room, he extends a hand to Bucky in introduction.  “Agent Thor Odinson, SHIELD North Sector, Law Enforcement Division.”

Standing and taking the proffered hand, Bucky immediately notices the over-strong grip. “Agent James Barnes, Special Ops. You can call me ‘Bucky’ though.”

“Good to meet you Agent!” Thor answers happily. He turns to where Steve is cooking in the kitchen, “May I presume then that you are the ‘infamous’ Captain Rogers?”

“That’s me,” Steve mock salutes using the spatula in his right hand.

“Your reputation is of great renown, even within Law Enforcement Division.”

“Thanks, I guess?”

“It is good to meet you both! My apologies though, might I bother you for the use of your facilities? The flight from Norway was quite… long.”

“Oh yeah, sure.” Bucky says while taking his seat and lifting his coffee again. “Just through that door.”

“Greatly appreciated!” and with that, Thor disappears into the bathroom, closing the door behind him.

Once Brock has closed the front door and resumed his seat at the table, Bucky looks at him with a raised eyebrow, “So?”

“What?” Rumlow replies.

“You know him?”

“Odinson? Yeah, he and I went to the academy together. We were on the same Tac Team for training until we graduated.”

“Aaaand?”

“And _what_ , Barnes?”

Bucky narrows his gaze and gives him a knowing look. “You have a type, Rumlow.”

“A what?”

“A type. You have one,” he says over the top of his coffee. “Tall, thick, blonde…”

Brock doesn’t know if he should be angry, offended, or maybe… honest. With himself; eventually.

“What? You think Odinson…”

“Look, man” Bucky interrupts him. “I’ve only seen the look that he had on his face when he saw you in one other place. And that place is on Steve’s face whenever I walked in the front door of our apartment.  Steve, back me up here?”

Steve dumps the full frying pan of scrambled eggs onto a large serving plate while holding his other hand up in mock surrender. “Oh no, I’m not getting involved.”

“Odinson’s just friendly. He’s like that with everyone,” Brock says through a glare.

“No,” quips Bucky. “He’s was like that with _you_ . His expression was different when he introduced himself to us. _Completely_ different. He was happy to meet us but he was _ecstatic_ when he saw you. He even used the word ‘marvelous.’ Nobody uses that word. _Ever_.”

“You’re full of shit, Barnes.”

“I’m just saying…”

It’s then that Thor exits the bathroom while divesting himself of his jacket. Placing the jacket on the back of a chair, he takes the seat next to Rumlow at the table.

“So I hear there was quite the adventure to be had here a few days ago?”

“Sorry, Thor was it?” Steve asks as he brings the plate full of eggs and another of waffles to the table. “Can’t really talk about that.”

“Ah yes, Special Ops ‘hush hush’ and all that.” Thor says through a grin. “Still though, must have been great fun!”

“Yeah, not what I’d call it.” Bucky says as he stands to help Steve with bringing plates, tableware and condiments to the table. “Plus, I don’t think we really _want_ to talk about it.”

“Very well then.” At least Thor seems to be able to take a hint. “So, Agent Rumlow, you’ve been well since our time together at the academy?”

“Yeah, I’ve been fine. Just need a change of scenery now.” Brock is being tentative around Thor, and now Steve seems to see what it was that Bucky saw before.  There’s definitely _something_ there.

“Well it will be great to have you in North Sector with me.  It will be just like our time together on our Tac Team!” Thor finishes by giving Rumlow a solid thwack on the back.

“Sure, just like Tac Team.” Brock still hasn’t made eye contact with Thor and now Steve can see exactly why.  He’s not looking the man in the eyes because his eyes are darting between his coffee and Thor’s rather sizable arms.

Bucky ducks his head down next to Steve’s ear so he can be heard at a whisper. “Brock is totally smitten. Plus, I think it’s mutual too.”

“Those two?” Steve asks, whispering in return.

“Now that they’re talking to each other, I don’t think Thor even registers that we’re still here.”

“Huh.” Steve quirks an eyebrow as he grabs the syrup and ketchup to bring them back to the table.

Once they’re all seated and eating together, it becomes clear to both Steve and Bucky that Thor only includes them periodically in his and Brock’s conversation for the sake of being polite. In fact, Thor is _exceptionally_ polite, which Bucky reads as a clear indication that he’s overcompensating for the fact that he _really_ only wants to talk to Rumlow.

After they finish breakfast, Steve and Bucky clear the table and let the other two agents continue their conversation unhindered. Then, after everything is cleared, Rumlow gets his few belongings together to leave.

All four of them gather at the door and Steve lets Thor and Brock out while pulling Bucky under his arm. “You guys fly safe back to Norway.  I’m sure the change of venue will do you good.” He continues while looking at the smaller man, “And Rumlow, just want to let you know, there’s no hard feelings.”

“Thanks Cap. Just… thanks.”

Bucky speaks up next to Steve, “Don’t worry. You’ll do just fine up north. You’ll have fun.” He finishes with a wink that only Brock sees.

Once they’re gone and the door is closed, Steve rounds around Bucky, getting both of his arms fully around his husband’s shoulders. “So now that they’re out of here, it’s down to just you and me…”

“Is that so Mr.?” Bucky replies while wrapping his arms around Steve’s waist.

“That is definitely so.”

“And what should just you and me do about that, hmmmm?”

“Oh, I have an idea.”

“Really?”

“Really, really.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so I didn't think I could work out how to get Thor into this thing and then he goes and shows up at their front door. Damn Asgardians and their total disregard for my creativity. Geez. LOL
> 
> Comments, kudos, questions, concerns, and all that jazz, keep me going. Leave them or don't, up to you. :P


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